To Kill A Goddess
by EmeraldFlight
Summary: Goddess is a genius. She's taken revolutionary strides in music the likes of which were previously unimaginable. She's brought some of the best music to ever see the light of day into the mainstream, and isn't going anywhere anytime soon. But her name? Her history? Still hidden in shadow. Mostly.
1. To Kill A Goddess, I - An Annual Runaway

The studio was enormous. Not quite the most enormous studio she'd even been in, but a comfortable seat to thousands of silently interested fans. Her silently interested fans.

The camera was rolling in two, one -

"Thank you, Mark. Okay, this is a phenomenal thing." She saw her camera's active light flicker on, finally placing her in the shot. She imagined the bar below her face on the screen - "Goddess, Musical Artist." "Goddess, Music Sensation," perhaps?

She focused as the newscaster - the pop culture guy with the catchy name, Fact Fiction, hair perfectly combed, stage makeup not quite complimenting his high cheekbones - attempted his first question. "Goddess, the... how exactly... wh - uh," he stammered, and covered his face, to light laughter from the audience. "I'm at a loss for words, Miss," he said, with a bright smile.

The camera was back on her. She returned the smile, but smaller. "That's fine," she replied, hoping she looked natural. This was rather new to her.

Off. "Okay, let's see whether I can begin this properly," he joked, with a chuckle, and turned to his camera. "For those of you who have been living under a rock - well, more than one, considering how far this name has reached by now - Goddess is the beautiful, anonymous, musical _genius_ sitting across from me."

"I'm blushing," she replied with another smile.

"She's a respected composer, lyricist, singer, performer, et cetera et cetera," Fact continued, shuffling through his papers. "She's become a standout name in - okay, wow, we may have to take this piece by piece. Let's just start the interview here, and the two people who haven't heard of you will pick up on everything as we go."

He turned to her, and the third camera flickered on. Full shot. "I'd like to say I am just happy as a lark to be allowed to interview you. For the audience, this is how this will work, by Goddess' commands: we can ask any question we'd like, and she can choose whether to answer. Seems fair, right? Alright."

She crossed her legs. She'd never needed a public relations agent, but she might after this. Oddly enough, although she was on stage quite often, she'd never had to talk onstage. There was a brief prompt, of course, but... it didn't seem like enough. She wasn't even sure whether this interview, after so many years, was _right_.

"I want to start with a basic inquiry, alright? Okay. What is your _name_?"

For some strange reason, the audience began an applaud. Unprompted. It was the most basic question, and the most sought-after.

"Well..."

She could feel the tensity in the room jump as everyone was suddenly dead quiet. Her voice momentarily felt awkward and strange.

"... I would have thought that... that people would have figured me out by this point because of the hair, or the voice, or something. I'm sure the people I grew up with know, and -" She paused, trying to pick out the words "- it's weird that they haven't come out with my name yet."

"I'd say so," Fact replied, nodding. "Is that all we get, or...?"

"I..." she trailed off. "I don't think it's a good idea to release that. Yet."

The reaction from the audience was one she'd never heard before, not even in the higher-class venues. It was sort of a simultaneous breath. Was that good? Bad? Did it matter? It felt more uncomfortable than anything else.

"And..." Fact paused. "I gotta say, I'm not disappointed. I'd call that a smart business move if I've ever heard one."

"How so?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"You're Goddess forever now, aren't you? No new names to call you. I suppose in that way, I shouldn't have expected an answer -"

He put a hand nonchalantly to his earpiece. "Professionalism," she imagined some silhouetted boss character saying, in a deep, terrifying voice. "So, can you tell us anything about your childhood? Maybe, lead us through your musical journey?"

"I can't talk too much about my childhood," she began slowly. That she'd decided already, when she saw the question in the script. "But I can give you a history, sure. I started out in a punk band, five years ago, which some of you may -"

She was cut off by the applause. They were thinking of Circus Freaks, the group she did vocals for currently. "No, no, no, everyone, this band doesn't exist anymore. It stopped when I left."

"So you held it together?" Fact asked.

"I wouldn't - well, that would be kind of rude to say," she replied, shaking her head. "I just think it was sort of a stepping stone for me and everyone else in the band."

"So they're musicians, too?"

She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. "No comment."

"Alright, fair enough. Go on."

She uncrossed her legs, trying to get comfortable. "Well, that was when I moved to - to an undisclosed location. I was still in school, but almost out. I didn't go to college, by the way."

"So you developed your knowledge of music alone? Single-handedly?"

"I was about to get to that," she replied with a friendly laugh. "I got out of school in a year from then, I think." She paused, recollecting. It was that period. The dark years, basically. "Then was when I started getting really into music. I'd just recently got my cutie mark, in fact, which is the 'o' in my logo, actually."

"Really? That's actually been speculated before, but now it's official. Stop the presses," he joked.

"For about two years after that, I studied music, and then released my first album. The, um, it was the mixed-genre one. My namesake album."

The studio had again fallen into silence. She looked around, and back at Fact. His mouth was open slightly. "... How many instruments could you play before that point?"

"Two. Um, clarinet and guitar."

"But -" he paused, and shuffled through his papers. "You can play eighteen now."

She looked back at the audience. "... Yes, I can. Minus the voice."

"So - y - you mean that your voice wasn't good before that two years - the two-year period?"

"Not as good, I mean, well-developed - as polished as it is now," she tripped over her words.

Fact out a hand to his head again. "So in the course of two years, you learned sixteen instruments?"

"Bullsh-" she heard from the audience before silence returned. She wondered how they could bleep that live.

"I'm - it wasn't that difficult, because I already knew two basic instruments. I just had to adjust for things like the mandolin and the flute. It wasn't -" She paused, grasping for words.

"If that's not a joke, that's a gift," Fact began.

"No, no, it's not that I didn't work at them," she interrupted, shifting forwards in the puffy red studio chair. "I... I didn't speak to anyone much. Or interact with anyone, at all. A lot of the time I didn't even eat. Up until then, I wasn't the best at anything, understand, and when I found something I was the best at, I just totally went at it."

"So it was total reclusiveness?"

"If you want to call it that, I suppose it was. During that time, I also studied musical theory. You could call it hungrily. I just wanted to know everything about it."

"So you essentially mastered sixteen separate instruments _and_ learned what you know about music now? Some have speculated that you must have about eight years' experience in that kind of thing."

"I wouldn't call them all separate instruments. A lot of them are really similar to the guitar and the clarinet."

"But they're played entirely differently, most of them. You also know the violin, the upright bass, and you were awarded Outstanding Musician last year for the alto saxophone."

"It's all really about breath and hand placement. To me. I mean, again, this was a 24/7 learning experience for me. I was fanatical. Some say I still am."

It'd been like this her whole life - she was never one to admit to her talents. And this whole show was about her estimated three hundred million worldwide fans staring on in anticipation to hear her blab about her talents.

 _You wanted this, Sweetie. You wanted to tell everyone finally about yourself. Here you go._

The heat from the lights were making her feel sick. She took a small drink from her water as they cut to their first commercial break with some silly tag line from Fact as the cameras flickered off.

She stood and stretched a bit, as well as she could, considering she thought it would be a great idea to wear her structured white suit to this. The black pool that was the audience went deep and hundreds of voices began calling her name and random questions for her.

She decided to take a short walk over to the banisters, and, of course, a throng of fans rushed over, screaming for signatures. One of her quirks was just for the signature crowd - one per showing. Only one. And everyone was scrambling to be the lucky one.

At the back of the crowd, in the quasi-darkness, she saw a young man looking at his feet, one of her t-shirts hanging loosely on his wiry shoulders. She waved back to him, as she definitely couldn't call over the noise. He didn't respond.

So she signed someone's pad silently, gave a small stage-smile, and adjusted her suit, returning to the set.

"Hey, we're back, with Goddess' once-in-a-lifetime revelation and a fresh set of questions," Fact began, and rambled for a little more as she checked her watch. Three, two, one. Five o'clock. She pulled the pack from her inner pocket and the lighter from the other.

"... and it couldn't be - um, Goddess? You - there's no smoking in here," Fact said, a bit nervously, as though expecting reprimand.

"Shouldn't have had the interview at four-thirty to five-thirty," she replied softly, tasting the bitter smoke as it swam into her lungs. It was as disgusting as ever.

"Well, your tradition rather goes against the fire code for the building."

"I don't mind."

Yes, it was bullish. But everyone knew. Five o'clock. It wasn't her fault that that was when they'd scheduled it. And it's not like they could do anything about it live. They had more traffic by that point than they ever had before or would ever after.

"... Here's a question for you. What's the reason behind the five o'clock cigarette?"

She blew out and up, taking her time to answer. "In memory," she replied after a moment.

"Of whom?"

In a five-minute break, she'd somehow switched into stage mode. Quiet, unassuming, mysterious. Perhaps it was the cigarette. "No one," she responded lowly.

She could hear the bloggers blogging about the meaning already.

"... I respect your privacy. I would like to ask, why don't you seem concerned about the effect that could have on your voice? Or your audience?"

"One a day can't hurt me too badly. It's in my blood. I have a hardy family. But I don't condone smoking. I never will. It's a terrible, disgusting habit and I wouldn't be caught dead doing it," she added, taking in another lungful.

There was a bit of light laughter from the audience and a bit of a confused grin from her interviewer. "Alright," he began. "Let's get back to the history, I suppose. Any further comment about your introduction into the mainstream?"

"I wasn't expecting the first album to be a breakthrough. Or platinum. It was an experiment for me. I believe it went something like classical, hip-hop, pop, prog rock, nu jazz?"

"And a few more genres, yes. But a couple of those songs have received multiple genre awards and best-in-class awards. A lot of people, me included, would say you nailed the heart of every genre you went for on that album." He put the papers down for a moment. "The chord progression and vamping on _Subtle Elegy_ gets me every time, by the way."

"Thank you," she replied, smiling again. Maybe she was smiling too much. It was starting to hurt.

"And in the last two years, you've released four albums?"

"I have."

"That's insane."

"It's my job," she replied, looking at the cigarette and tapping the ashes off onto the glass table nearby.

"And all but one have received awards," Fact added. "That's even more insane. How could you possibly come up with incredible ideas so quickly?"

"Let me ask you a question," she began, choosing her words carefully. "Which album of mine is your favorite?"

"Uh... I can't say I could choose."

"That's how I do it. I refuse to fall behind. I have to make something as good or better."

"Your appeal is enormous, as I'm sure you know," Fact began, taking a small note. "How do you encapsulate a genre so well?"

"It's all just experience. I've listened to music likely more than anyone I've ever met. I just know what makes something good. It's all part of it." The discomfort was returning. The caul of mystery and power she had covering her was slipping off.

"One more question, and we'll open questioning up to the audience for the remaining time until the break. Your fans have out together when you go on your annual vacation, or whatever it may be. Your disappearance for a month."

"Yes."

"And we know you'll be leaving in two days."

"... Correct."

"I can understand why you wouldn't want to answer these questions, but can you tell us where -"

She was already shaking her head. The audience laughed, and she did as well momentarily. "Sorry, but if everyone knew that, I wouldn't get a break."

"Very true. Some people have speculated you're in fact registered as a magic-user, and teleport somewhere, or turn yourself invisible. Any clues you can... no?"

"No comment," she replied again, with a laugh.

"Alright, to the audience. We choose one member at random and they can speak into the microphone attached to their chair if their light lights up. We got that, everyone? Alright, first question."

A small glowing dot appeared in the back of the audience and there was a quiet squeal. Over the loudspeakers, a broken and nervous voice began: "Um, why - why do you only sign, um, do one signature every show?"

"Well, if I give out too many signatures, they aren't special anymore." She smiled, and flicked off more ash. It was almost gone. "There are only twenty-two out there, so each one is rare. A keepsake."

Another small light, on the opposite side of the massive room. And a short, goofy laugh. "Are you single?"

The room erupted again into what would never stop feeling like canned laughter. She remained still for a moment, and finished off the cigarette, 'thinking'. The audience was on edge. She loved it.

With a quick motion, she pressed the end against the glass table, in the ashes already there. "Perhaps."

* * *

In a dark room, where at one point there was laughter and popping popcorn and giggles at their best friend's charades, there was silence and the muffled speech from the television.

"She probably has her reasons."

"... Yeah."

* * *

The train station was hectic, as it usually was that time of day. It was helpful. She couldn't focus on any one thing, or on any one person; the overall movement was the only standout thing. The spot between the two drinking fountains was likely the only place no one would be walking, so there she was. The Transparent Goddess.

She was never very good at magic, but necessity was the mother of invention. When her fame hit, unexpected and instantaneous, she knew she had to learn to evade cameras and fans. And what better way to do that than to become completely unseeable? Thanks to that little trick, most of her fans still thought she slept in her studio - they never saw her enter or leave.

She breathed slowly. It was essential to some of the magic she needed, especially the complex, heady spells like the next one. She felt the magic on her fingers, weightless and staticky, and touched her chest, feeling it coat her. And she stepped into the crowd. Rather, _through_ the crowd.

Ten, nine, eight. She climbed the train and slung off her backpack. Seven, six, five, four. With a smooth movement, the blanket fell over her and its sides attached to the roof of the cab. Three, two, one. As the quiet alarm on her wrist sounded, she felt the trickle of the spell wearing off. She was completely sealed, and ready for the three-hours ride.

Oh, the last thing. She reached carefully into her backpack, so as not to upset the blanket, and pulled out the small white device. Three hours of music - no problem. She pressed the headphones over her ears and hit play.

 _Cloudy though the sky is_

 _It's clearer here below_

 _And send us all through hell and high water_

 _Like you did all those years ago_

* * *

"I guess that's it for today."

The garage was quiet, a contrast to the huge noise that had just recently shaken its small, dusty windows. The clack of the drumsticks on one another sounded briefly and died. It wasn't an average practice. They were better. A lot better. They were angry. At least, she was.

She heard the footsteps behind her. "We heard what's happenin'."

She opened the garage door with the press of a button. "It doesn't matter."

"Ah think it does. Why haven't you said anythin' about it yet?"

"It's not important. It's not like I'll never be back."

Silence again, for a moment. The other voice spoke up, albeit quieter. "You might not be."

"Okay, in a year and a half I'll be out of school and I can move back. It's not that hard. It's only a year and a half," she repeated, turning back towards them and trying to conceal her frustrations.

"You'll be on the other side of Equestria," Applebloom said, fiddling with a thick iron vice on the garage's workbench nearby, purposefully looking away. "Ah don't think it'll be as easy to get back as you think."

"No, it will," Sweetie responded, monotone. "I know it."

"Where are you gonna get the money for a house?" Scootaloo said, spinning a drumstick. "You're gonna wanna work where you are for a while, anyways."

"Whatever. Can't I just crash with one of you guys?"

"Probably not with me," Applebloom said. "Unless you've got some way of producing children with me. House rules."

Sweetie groaned, not quite in the laughing mood at the moment.

"I dunno whether you can stay at my place. I think my landlord's kind of not for roommates."

"Whatever. I'll figure something out."

"... If you're sure."

"I am."

It wasn't quite a miracle that they'd stayed a group of friends for so long. People came and went in Ponyville, some friendly, some not, but they'd never split, never gone their separate ways. And Sweetie could tell that they were afraid that that was finally happening. Even though she didn't have a plan yet, she'd get one.

"Do you think we can still keep the band together once I'm away?" Sweetie asked, really just as a facade over her thoughts. "Like, you send me audio files and I'll find a way to put them together...?"

"Ah dunno. We're not the best to begin with. Seems like a lot of effort for... not much."

"We were really good today."

"It was just you," Scootaloo said. "It always is."

She couldn't find the words to respond.

"... Ah'm gonna go put away my bass," Applebloom said finally, breaking the silence.

The back door shut with a squeak behind her. Scootaloo stood and stretched. "Maybe we should get our own band t-shirts if we're gonna keep the band going. I need new shirts."

"I like how there's a hole right over your bellybutton."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot to get that fixed. You wanna try?"

"I guess..." she trailed off, trying to summon her magic. It wasn't her forte. "Okay, it might get hot." A wisp of pale green hovered over the small tear, casting a bright glow onto the deeply-tanned skin behind it.

It brought up a kind of odd memory. A couple years ago, she realized something - different about herself. It was uncomfortable, but it stuck. So who did she go to first to talk about it? Her two best friends, of course.

Scootaloo almost always wore a tank top in summer, or anytime it wasn't standout cold. But that afternoon, she remembered it more than she would any other afternoon. 'I don't want you guys to think I'd ever come on to you,' she was saying, a hand covering part of her face, trying desperately not to look over at Scootaloo.

She clenched her teeth, forcing her concentration back to the magic fizzling through her arms.

After, she'd come up to her, as they were walking home, and, her hands behind her back, she said something similar. They agreed not to talk about it again. They agreed they weren't interested in one another, and left it.

They made jokes sometimes, or talked about it when no one else was around, but it just wasn't a common topic of theirs. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe not.

"Don't, like, burn my guts or something."

It snapped her out of her thoughts. "I'll try not to," she muttered, and moved a hand slowly. The wisp shuddered and flew up, searing the polycotton behind it and sealing the rip.

"Okay, yes, hot, a lot," Scootaloo gasped, pinching the shirt and holding it away from her.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Thanks."

She patted on it, and, satisfied with the temperature, let it fall back down. "The only problem is the big black section covering the middle part of the logo."

Sweetie giggled. "Yeah, well."

Scootaloo walked up next to her, staring out at the orchards with her hands in her pockets. "How long do you think you'll be away?" she asked, so quiet it could be a whisper.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

Unlike the long, somber pauses from a few minutes previous, this pause was less a silence and more a hush.

"... You remember that song you wrote in June? Dark something?"

"Dark Drive," Sweetie finished, her breath shallow just for a moment for some reason or another. She glanced over at her, to see her glancing back, her dark violet eyes hidden under her brow, gleaming with a paralyzing understanding.

 _how do you know_

"Thanks," Scootaloo said lowly, her hands moving deeper into her pockets.

Sweetie said nothing.

"... I guess you know what I'm gonna say next, right?"

Sweetie said nothing. Her mouth had gone dry. She reached up and pressed the button once more, the whirr as the door descended sudden and loud.

It stopped after a few moments, and she glanced back at Scootaloo, who was staring at her sneakers, her cheeks bright red. "I... don't want you to go anywhere."

She couldn't take her eyes away, though she certainly tried. "I thought... we..."

"I don't care." She sounded tired under the anxiety. "I didn't know you were ever going to leave."

Sweetie said nothing.

It happened quicker than she pictured it happening. Before anything else, she felt a firm, confident touch on her neck, touching the bottom of her jaw, and then the not-quite-warmth of someone close, and then the gentle, unnervingly tender pressure on her lips. She'd kissed someone once before, a long time ago, but this was different. Scary different.

They pulled away for a moment, their eyes still closed. She realized her hands were up, on her friend's cheek, on her chest. Something new, something uncomfortable, but something provoking - almost _necessary_. She hadn't thought about her in a while, not since Dark Drive. And now, information lost in a wave of emotion flooded into her mind.

 _need_

Another sudden impulse. She pushed her back to the workbench counter, the first real sound in a few minutes dully echoing in the small, near-empty room. It was like she was given a fresh surge of staticky _need_. She fell into it, her heart pounding mercilessly against her ribcage. New, uncomfortable, necessary.

By that point, she was doing what she thought was natural. Maybe. She leaned forwards, the burnt spot on Scootaloo's shirt mildly irritating her (not that she was paying any real attention). Everything was a rhythm. One, two, three, she pulled her as close as she could go, slamming a hand onto the counter for support as Scootaloo floated upwards a couple centimeters. She wasn't even concentrating on keeping her mouth closed anymore.

Finally, she pulled away, grasping almost violently at Scootaloo's head, her temples pounding. She looked down for a moment, her thoughts hazy, and looked back up. The knitted eyebrows, the cold sweat, the deep, violet eyes. A new emotion hit her like a brick, knocking the air out of her.

She felt the tears before she felt the kiss, and felt the kiss before she heard the door squeak again.

"Oh - uh - f - uh - Ah'm -"

She leaned back the second she heard the squeak, and wiped furiously at her eyes. "G - give - give us a second," she managed over Applebloom's babble.

"Uh - oh - okay," she stammered, and ducked out of sight past the door again.

She looked back at Scootaloo, flushed an even brighter red. She was still almost on top of her, and stepped back half a step. "... I didn't know," she tried to say, her throat numb and her voice nearly nonexistent.

"I know. It's okay."

"How... how long? -"

She sighed, and looked away. "Not long. I just... I realized how close we were getting, and I figured out that you - that you thought the same thing. Or else I never would have..."

"Do you - want to do it again?" she offered softly.

"Um, Applebloom's waiting right there outside the door, and she could -"

"I'm leaving in two days, Scootaloo. This could be it," she added slowly, feeling the tears again. She should have just said something. Early on, years ago.

"I know." She put a hand to her forehead, and sighed again, more bitterly. "Maybe we can make two days count."

Sweetie said nothing. There wasn't anything to say. She reached over and hit the garage door button one last time, and leaned forwards for a final kiss. Two. She savored this one.

"... I have to go."

* * *

 _And still I have this drive_

 _It's this desire to impress_

 _This foundation, it's a consolation_

 _For the beating, it's a rest_

She sounded so young in that. And her lyricism was awful. The scene would always play in her mind, like a music video, permanently attached to the song. A couple years ago, it conjured nothing but negativity, more general angst that rather fueled her desire to learn. Now, with the air blowing past her at ninety miles an hour while she laid precariously on the cold metal roof of a passenger train, it caused nothing if not electric excitement.

Maybe she would re-release it. That could be a nice gift, or thing, or whatever, to her. Or, well, it could also be a bit dangerous. She never officially released Dark Drive, and she was afraid with the amount of people who followed her that someone would pick out the tiny clues.

She rolled over underneath the blanket. Only a few more minutes left. The sky was starting to darken, and she'd listened to two good-sized albums. After a momentary sigh, more in simple wonder of the lengths she had to go through to get home nowadays than anything else, she stuffed her music back in her bag and waited for the train to stop.

It was basically night already as she took her first large, invisible leap from the top of the train, taking care not to make too much noise. She beelined through the thin woods in-between the station and the orchards on the other side of town, stopping only once to hide. As she passed some more open parts of the town, she noticed a couple more people out at night than there usually were. Fans really were scouring the globe after the interview. Not good.

Eventually, after another careful skirt around some evening 'joggers' and a quick scaling of a dull white fence, she reached the back of the farmhouse. Three knocks quick, two slow.

The door opened quickly, and she slipped in, leaning back against the adjacent staircase to catch her breath.

"Hey, y'all alright? There's a bunch of prowlers out there that ain't been around before."

Sweetie looked up. Applebloom hadn't changed much in a year; her face was still bright and perky as ever, she was still wearing her favorite overalls, and her cherry-red (apple-red, if she was being cute about it) hair still hanging in a thick ponytail. She smiled, and leaned in for a hug. "How's it goin', Sweetie."

"Ah, it's fine," Sweetie replied, "just like always. Is Sie walking yet?"

"Not yet. She's kinda tryin', but she just ain't gettin' the hang of it."

Sweetie chuckled, imagining the poor baby trying to stand and falling all over herself. "Can't wait until she has to spell her name. _I_ can't even. Sha-ver-zee?"

"S-I-E-V-E-R-S-I," Applebloom spelled out, walking back into the house. "... I. Two I's, ah think. It's all her dad's fault."

"Speaking of, where is Sir Nerd?"

"Yell for him. Baby's not down yet."

" _Neeerd!_ " she shouted to the stairs, leaving her backpack near the base and starting to walk up. It smelled like home the most at the Apples'. Like a smooth mixture between the woodiness of an old, old manor and a lingering fresh-out-of-the-oven scent. Welcome, it said.

"He's in his office," Applejack said with a grin, popping out of a nearby room with a huge basket of laundry.

"AJ! How's it been?" Sweetie asked, going in for a short hug.

She dropped the basket at her feet and hugged back, strong. "It's good to see you back," she replied cheerfully. "Ah dunno what's gettin' all the buzzards out of the woodworks, but ah don't think they're suspectin' us yet. Stay for as long as you like." She nodded amicably and picked up the basket again. "I got this load, and everyone'll be downstairs for a drink."

"I'd love to stay, really, but Scoots and I are long overdue for a trip. We'll be back quick at the end of the month, but we're probably leaving tonight."

"That's a shame," she replied, cricking her neck as she started down the stairs. "Well, have fun."

"You said he's in the office?"

"Yup."

She'd only drop by for a moment. It was always a bit odd to think Applejack would ever go for someone like Blaine - Blaine was his full name, oddly enough. Well, he was the only Blaine she knew, so it wasn't exactly a problem. He was a massive history buff, and a biology genius, and through and through a nerdy dad character, complete with thin black glasses and an even thinner jaw. He certainly was an offset from the rest of the family.

"Nerd? You in there?" she called out, knocking on the open door.

"What? Oh, Sweetie Belle. Hello. Tidying up, over in the corner here." He was the only person she'd ever known to wear a turtleneck sweater on the daily, too.

"You sure it'll do you any good?" she half-joked, looking around at the mess of stacked books and partially-finished work and huge scribbled drawings.

"The rest of it's all finished. This part is all I have left to tidy up." He stood and stretched to his full, almost-Big-Mac height, cracking his fingers.

"Oh. Right. Wow," she added, walking over to him and tapping at his arm. "Have you been working out, guy? That's crazy. Last time I saw you, you were a coat hanger."

"Oh, Applejack suggested it. She wanted me to beat her at arm-wrestling. Bet me fifty bits I couldn't do it. I said, what the hell." He smiled, an off-center but genuine smile. "It's not as hard as I thought it would be."

"I can see that. Well done," she said, smiling in return, and taking a look at the rest of the room for a moment.

"You can touch stuff, but don't - don't move anything anywhere, I'll forget where I put it."

She picked up a stapled stack of papers, scribbled text and sketches of long-extinct animals covering them. In one quick movement, she flipped the pages quickly, watching the blue ink fly by. "... Do you publish these?"

"Hm? What?"

"Just -"

"Oh, everything? I'll put something out in Canterlot every once in a while, but there isn't a huge group that thinks that kind of thing is interesting, and it costs a bit to get a publisher. It's more of a hobby."

"But look at all this," Sweetie said, setting down the packet and motioning up and around. "There's more paper here than I've ever seen at once. You could be making so much if you marketed right," she added, putting her hands in her pocket. It didn't seem like an improper thing to say at first, but then she remembered who she was, and who he was. Goddess, and the nerd at the end of the hallway. She caught her shame and hoped he didn't.

He just shrugged. "It's my hobby, not my job. My job is here, on the farm. 'Least until Applejack says we can get going."

She pushed the shame away, glad he wasn't offended. He knew who she was, obviously, but he didn't seem to care. He just liked his books and papers and sketches. "... Get going where?"

"She says once Sie hits six or seven, we can move around for a couple years and come back when she's twelve or thirteen. Give her a background, maybe. I was a traveling kid, and I've always wanted my kids to experience what I did."

"That sounds like a pretty good plan."

He nodded, smiled warmly again, and bent over over the papers one more time.

"We're gonna go downstairs for a drink. You gonna be there?"

"Probably, in a few minutes," he murmured.

She smiled, and turned back to the pad of paper. He was a quaint man, and she liked him. That simple.

Out of nowhere, she heard a quiet 'Good evening, madam', and felt two hands run lightly up her sides. She smiled even wider and put her hands on those hands, closing her eyes for a moment.

"Hey, do you mind if I steal her for a moment?"

Blaine looked up and around until he found the source of the question, and nodded briefly. "Yeah, ok," he muttered, and went back to the pile.

* * *

She shut the door behind her and kissed her quickly.

"Wow - you're not wasting any time," Sweetie whispered, responding with a kiss of her own, a bit deeper, a bit more passionate. She didn't want to go anywhere in the bathroom of her best friend's house, but some intimacy couldn't really be resisted, could it?

"I missed you," Scootaloo replied, backing her up against the door and wrapping her arms around her, going for one more quick kiss. Sweetie returned the embrace, burying her face into her familiar, dark-tanned neck. The songs she could write.

Scootaloo's hold tightened for a moment, and Sweetie thought nothing of it until she tensed up in the same motion. There was a silence as that settled, and she heard Scootaloo open her mouth as though she was going to speak. "... Can you... explain, really fast, your situation right now?"

"What do you m-" Sweetie began, trying to push away, but she was restricted by Scootaloo. She shook her head. "Scoots, let go."

"It's okay, I'm not upset or anything, I'm just concerned, and I need you to tell me what's going on," Scootaloo said lowly, taking her time.

"What are you talking..." she trailed off. The interview. Of course. "I didn't mean to - to trivialize -"

"Sweetie Belle. I'm not upset. I just need you to explain what's going on, in your life, right now."

She thought for a moment, and nuzzled her neck again. "I... wanted to be a little more out there. I like people, and my fans are people, so I thought they could get to know me a bit. I prepared so I didn't reveal anything important, but..." She sighed. "You saw the state of the town. Everyone's everywhere in Equestria, looking for me."

"I know. Are you safe?"

She pulled away again, and Scootaloo let her. Sweetie looked into those violets again, biting her lip. "I want to tell you something."

She didn't respond, but moved her hands down to hold Sweetie's.

"Not everyone likes me, obviously. And..." she inhaled. "I've had a few close encounters with some of the more aggressive ones. But -" she began, when she saw Scootaloo's eyes grow "- it's okay, I've since taken extra precautions. I don't know the reasons they would want to hurt me, but I know the exact reason they would want to hurt you," she finished, looking away, trying not to think about it. "And I have to make sure that isn't possible."

Scootaloo gripped her hands a bit tighter for a second. "I understand."

"... I didn't mean for it to happen."

"It's not your fault, it's the fans' -"

"No, I mean... the fame. I didn't mean it."

Scootaloo sighed, and held up both their hands, pressing them against her chest, apparently subconsciously, like she was deep in thought. "I kind of figured. But don't you like it?"

Sweetie's mouth opened for a moment, quite ready for a 'no', then she stopped herself. As if she'd just put on Kevlar, there was a heavy weight suddenly sitting on her chest. "... How about we go downstairs with everyone else."

Scootaloo rubbed her shoulder gently something she'd only ever done to Sweetie - the best word for it was probably 'caress'. It brought back a lot of the comfort and stability that seemed to have just disappeared. She looked up at her, a little smile breaking across her face as the thought of the upcoming month hit her.

Scootaloo smiled back, her classic, lopsided grin. "Let's go."

* * *

"And you started smoking right after the commercial break," Applebloom was saying, over the laughter.

"It was five o'clock," Sweetie managed, already caught up in the laughter with the rest of them. "It's my thing."

"Well, y'all know the saying," she replied, taking a sip of her drink. She glanced around, her eyes wide in expectation. "Y'all never get my references. 'It's always five o'clock somewhere'."

"Oh. Oh," Sweetie said, laughing, and everyone else picked up again. In a few moments, it died down, and she leaned back against the soft chair she was in. The 'den' was made after Blaine moved in, to accommodate for this kind of thing. Blaine moved in before Sweetie moved out, so when she finally came around to have one of... these social-type things in it, it was already lived-in and just felt welcome.

"But, yeah, we all watched it. Ah was over at Scoots', so we were just laughin' at everything, whether it was funny or not," she continued. "Ah love the mysterious you. It's so the opposite of you, it's perfect."

She laughed again. "I guess that's the point. It's a hard business, and there are just things you gotta get right. Image is one of them."

"Or, mirror-image," Applebloom replied.

"Hey, whatever works," Sweetie replied, and took a drink from her own. It was just like it always was, with a bit of a burn chasing it - after all, this was the secret stash. The 'good stuff'.

"What're all the things you can play again?"

"Why do you always ask that?" Sweetie asked, lightly. Big Mac didn't say much, ever, but he'd asked that question for two years straight now.

"He's a fan," Applejack replied for him, nudging him roughly with her elbow.

"Oh, yeah. Huge fan. He just likes hearin' ya talk about it," Applebloom added, and Big Mac chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "He's got T-shirts. You do, don't shake your head at me."

She smiled and began counting exaggeratedly on her fingers. "Guitar and clarinet, obviously, then oboe, violin, upright bass, bass guitar, seven-string, electric, flute and piccolo, three saxes, uh..." She counted back. "Oh, duh, piano, and I don't count the electric piano, then the weird ones like the shamisen, mandolin, and harpsichord, and, uh..." She trailed off. "There's another one."

"Ocarina," Mac murmured, just audibly, and grinned to himself. "Keep playin', Sweetie."

Sweetie chuckled, and did a little false-toast in his direction. "To my biggest fan?" she said carefully, to laughter.

"Hey, where're you two goin' this time?" Applejack asked Scootaloo, who was the only one who opted to sit on a box rather than on one of the available chairs.

"Oh," she snapped her fingers, trying to remember. "I don't know, what is it? It's down south."

"It's a bunch of islands below the Bay. They have a long name, I forgot it," Sweetie replied. "My offer still stands that any of you can come along if you want to. We don't mind."

"Nah. Got Sie and the farm. We'll have time for that later, anyways," Applejack said, looking over at Sie, who was sleeping silently in her little rocking-seat, next to Granny Smith, who was sleeping silently in her rocking-chair despite all the noise.

"... Heavy sleepin' runs in the family," Applebloom said, to another round of laughter. If anyone was ever going to get dual cutie marks in the Apple family, it was going to be Applebloom - the hammer she's got and the smile she probably would. She just knew how to make everyone laugh.

"I'd tell you she's got your eyes, but don't babies' eyes change colors sometimes?" Sweetie asked.

"Not these. Bright green, like, scary green," Scootaloo said, chuckling. "Been like that since she was born."

"And they better not change. Ah like my eyes," Applejack said, smiling over at her daughter for a few seconds. "Hey, is your sister ever movin' back here?"

Sweetie sighed. "I don't know. She seems to be getting more reclusive, ever since... me," she replied. "I think Mom's probably going to go live with her eventually. Permanently, this time. Anyway, is Sir Nerd ever leaving his room?" Sweetie asked, glad she could find a good way to change the subject.

"He might not. Sometimes that happens," Applejack said.

"He told me you made him exercise."

"He's been a beanpole as long as ah've known him, and forgive a girl for wanting a bit of a change," she replied, putting her legs up on the coffee table. She finally took her hat off, laying it on her chest and closing her eyes. "Can't believe it worked."

"He's not coming down, is he?" Scootaloo said, looking up at the ceiling like she was expecting him to materialize through it.

"He loses track of time every once in a while," Applejack commented with a yawn. "For now, we'll just have to be happy with Big Mac."

"Yeah, what's the opposite of a sausagefest?" Applebloom joked.

"Applebloom! Baby."

"One, she's asleep. Two, she wouldn't know what it means. Three, she wouldn't understand the language anyways," Applebloom said, rolling her eyes, and looking over to Sweetie. "That happens a lot. 'Applebloom! Baby'."

"Aunt of the Year award," Sweetie said, sitting back as everyone laughed. That was the night, and Sweetie would have it no other way.

* * *

"We'll be seein' y'all in a couple weeks, then?" Applejack asked, handing Sweetie her backpack.

"Something like that," Sweetie replied, a bit of her disappointment clear in her voice. The Apple family was her family. It felt natural, and it was odd leaving them. "Scoots, start and I'll be at the apartment in maybe ten minutes, kay?"

Scootaloo nodded, with a "See you," and threw her hood over her head, closing the door behind her and taking off into the chilly night.

"Look," Sweetie began instantly after the slam, unzipping her backpack. "I refuse in every way, shape, and form any attempt to deny this. In every way. I don't allow you to," she said, pausing her search in her backpack and looking up for confirmation.

Applebloom looked over at her sister, and looked back. "What d'you mean?"

"Look," she repeated, taking out a small stack of paper. "Here's six thousand bits. Give it to Blaine, make sure he publishes something. I don't care whether you tell him where it came from."

Applebloom folded her arms, scowling. "Sweetie, you know we can't -"

"I knew you were going to say that, and I absolutely refuse. This is yours, don't even try to give it back," she insisted, and tossed the stack at her, which she fumbled and caught.

"And here's another twelve for the baby," she added, shoving it at Applejack. "I know you don't need it and I know you don't want my charity, but pretend it's a gift and take it. Send her to college on me. I gotta run," she tacked on awkwardly, and threw the door open before they could say anything.

She quickly threw an invisibility spell over herself, and felt the warm, liquidy magic coat her as she speedwalked away, her mind still whirring furiously thinking through what just happened.

They weren't going to use it, they were too proud. Maybe she just made a fool of herself. Maybe she was rude. It was rude to flaunt your money. But something was formulating in her head, something she couldn't back out of, so it really was then or never. The year previous she'd made 108 million bits. She couldn't stand for not spreading that around anymore. It was a small start, but that was all she could carry.

She clenched her teeth as she crossed the road, staring solidly at where her invisible feet would be. Whatever. They'd be gone soon anyways. To those islands. The Apples could have come along, but 'nah'. Whatever. Of course, with her watching the road, she wasn't watching where she was going.

 _thud_

She leapt backwards, her blood freezing. There, in front of her, was a girl, a couple years younger than her, with creamy white hair that hung in braids on her back, looking in her general direction, stepping back a bit.

She looked down hurriedly. She was still invisible, so the girl had no genuine leads. "Is that you?" she was whispering loudly. "Goddess? Is that you? Or is it just some other invisible person?"

She mentally covered her ears and trotted to the other side of the road, about to cross into the grass again, but something made her turn around. Under the dull streetlights, the girl, spinning rapidly, shaking, a mixture of confusion and terror on her face, holding a pad of paper and a pen in her hands, hit something in her. "Are you still there? If - if you're her, will you sign m-my book?"

 _when you were fifteen, wouldn't you want to be heard?_

 _you're the famous one now. make her life awesome. just once_

She clenched her teeth again, tighter, her more logical faculties screaming at her for what she was about to do, but it was no use once she was in motion. With that bit of hesitation, she grabbed the girl's forearm and ran her over to the light forest nearby, behind a tree.

The girl was gasping like she was about to scream, but didn't. _Oh, she doesn't know it's me yet._ She countered the spell and slapped a hand over the girl's mouth, thinking fully through what she was going to say and finding a sentence quickly enough.

"If you tell anyone, they won't believe you. Do exactly what I say, okay?"

She nodded, her golden eyes shining and huge, her lips moving in all kinds of weird ways beneath Sweetie's hand.

"Open your book."

She did, and Sweetie took the pen, writing something down quickly. "There you go," she said. "Never sell it."

"Mmrf," the girl said.

"Oh, sorry. Heh," she whispered, and took her hand away.

The girl took a moment to inhale and regain her composure. "G-Godde -"

"Don't gush, just talk."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she sputtered. "I - I - I don't understand. Why me?"

"I bumped into you."

She sputtered a bit more (maybe it was a problem of hers), and held the book to her chest. "M - my name is Lily-White," she said quietly. "Y - you're my - my idol."

"Don't gush, just talk," she repeated, glancing around. "And I have to get through this area soon, so hurry, if you don't mind."

"I j-just want to play my g-guitar as well as you," she said, her voice breaking. "I can't sing, but I can play."

Sweetie sighed, turning back to the girl. Part of her image was a disconnect from her fans - her personality was her music, her identity was the stage. But she realized something suddenly, like a sentence overlapping itself. _You are her idol. She idolizes you._

She pursed her lips. This was a bad idea. "... Open the book."

"P-please don't get rid of the signature -"

"I'm not, Lily, it's okay. Just open the book."

She did again, looking away, and Sweetie wrote in one more small thing. "That's an email address. No one can trace that handwriting back to me and if you brag about the address, I will deny it."

"I - I wouldn't," she stammered quietly.

She looked back at her. "... I kind of figured you wouldn't," she said, bending down a bit to her eye level. There was something about her. Something familiar. She was like someone Sweetie knew, but off the top of her head, she had no idea who that person could be. It was a strong thought, so she said it out loud. "You remind me of someone."

There was a lull, and Lily's face didn't change at all. Still pure shock. Maybe her eyes were a bit fuller, maybe they glimmered a bit more, but she couldn't really tell.

"Why the address?" Lily managed.

"So we can talk," Sweetie said slowly, more as confirmation to herself. _when you were fifteen, wasn't this a fantasy of yours? what should we do_ "... I'm going to teach you how to play the guitar."

Lily seized up against the tree, even more, her book tight against her chest - it looked painful.

"Don't faint. Don't tell anyone I was in this area." She paused, and put a hand on her shoulder, standing up to full height. "Seriously. My entire life would fall apart if you told anyone. Please."

She nodded, and Sweetie hurriedly cast herself transparent again. "Talk to you later, Lily."

Lily half-waved, maybe still in shock, as Sweetie took off. As she turned around, she thought she caught the beginnings of a smile on her face.

Probably not the brightest idea Sweetie had ever had, but there was something warm in her now to combat the chill of the night. She wouldn't forget that face.

* * *

She tripped over the doorframe as she tried to slip into the apartment. Scootaloo caught her, though, and pulled her away from the corner she was about to violently collide with.

Grasping at the arm across her chest, she breathed out in relief. "Thanks."

"No problem," she replied, letting her back onto her feet and walking off into the kitchen. "You were gone almost twenty minutes, what held you up?"

She readjusted her backpack, giving herself a moment to plan her approach. After what seemed like a little too long a pause, she decided on honesty-is-the-best-policy. "I - well, I bumped into someone," she called after her, and sat down in the small living room.

"Oh, who was it?" she replied.

"No, literally bumped into someone."

There was the pause she expected, and then quick footsteps as Scootaloo dashed back into the living room. "Did they know it was you? Do they expect anything? Did they see you?"

She inhaled. Honesty is probably not the best policy. "Well, she was a young teenager, and wanted my signature, so..."

Scootaloo sat down next to her. "You didn't."

"... Yeah."

Scootaloo sighed, and put her hands on her face.

"Okay, it sounds bad, but I trust her not to tell anyone. And I have ways of denying it."

"But I thought you signed her paper! What if she's never been to a concert of yours before? She would, like, legally not have your signature! But she has it!" Scootaloo cried, standing again to pace.

"... I hadn't considered that."

"I figured."

"Well... we'll see what happens. Sit down."

Scootaloo looked out the window, and put a hand on her hip. "Right. Okay. Sorry, I'm not good with drinking."

Sweetie giggled. "So you're tipsy? That's adorable."

"We have to stay on topic, though," Scootaloo replied, returning to the couch, but still standing, restlessly rocking on her feet. "Gotta plan for the future."

"Wow, really brass-tacks here." Sweetie breathed deeply for a moment, and stood up to meet her. "I wanted to save this talk until later, but..." She paused, the barrage of ideas returning to her. "But this is bad timing."

Scootaloo stared at her, confused.

"I mean, my idea was telling you in a couple hours, when we're lying in bed, and it would be romantic and you wouldn't overreact," she continued, motioning to the bedroom down the short hall. "But..."

"Tell you what," she replied quietly. "I'm making tea because something about alcohol and dehydration. How about we just wait until that's done and you -" She paused. "You can tell me whenever."

"Can I go with my original plan?" Sweetie asked, reaching a hand around Scootaloo's back.

Scootaloo nodded, and grinned. "You wanna just, like, make out on the couch until the tea is ready?"

"Scoots. Forget the tea," Sweetie replied, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. She forgot the tea. She forgot everything, right then, because she was suddenly and instantly enthralled. "Let's just -" she cut herself off, leaning in quickly for a kiss, deep and thoughtless.

"Mm - wh - gotta turn - stove off -" Scootaloo got out in-between kisses, and hesitantly pulled away.

Sweetie pulled back. "Oh. Sorry. I'll meet you back there."

Scootaloo glanced away for a moment, and took of in a jog for the kitchen. She was back in ten seconds. "Nope. We're in this together," she said, with a laugh, and kissed her, clumsily.

"You are so tipsy," Sweetie murmured, unzipping Scootaloo's dark blue hoodie, slowly, taking her time.

"Mm - do you want music?"

"Oh, yes. Wow, yes. Use the speaker I got you -" She gasped as Scootaloo raked at the buttons on her shirt dress, unsuccessfully trying to undo them. "Need help?"

Scootaloo pulled away and shook her head. "Let's just get to bed and figure everything out. Does this slip off, or do I have to use the buttons?"

* * *

When the CD skipped back, she made Scootaloo get up and shut it off.

It was starting to hit that point of autumn when night became winter, and they were wrapped tightly together face-to-face under a thick Wonderbolts quilt. They hadn't said anything in something like ten minutes, still cooling down, almost falling asleep.

Finally, Sweetie Belle reached up and ran a hand through Scootaloo's hair, pulling her head to her chest. "... I'm going to say three separate things, and you have to consider them separately. Okay?"

Scootaloo nodded against her, with a yawn.

"Pay attention, 'cause it's important," she felt herself say, half-consciously. Her pulse had slowed as the memory of what she was going to say returned. The sentences in her head were enough to rather scare her. Maybe she could put it off.

 _just do it why do you keep questioning yourself_

"One. What would you say if I asked you to change your name and modify your appearance, to come back to my studio? Permanently?"

Scootaloo looked up, her eyes darting back and forth between Sweetie's. "I... this is sudden. I don't know. You don't expect me to make up my mind right -"

"No. No, no," Sweetie replied, with a short kiss. "No, this is just hypothetical," she added quietly, bringing her head back down to her chest. "... Second. What would you say if I said I wanted to retire?"

She tried to look up again, even quicker, but Sweetie wrapped her arms around her head as quickly, and laughed. "This is hypothetical, calm down," she said. "Stay where you are."

Scootaloo paused, and kissed her chest gently, to a sigh from Sweetie. "I think... you make your own decisions." It was clear she was choosing her words carefully. "I don't mind whatever you choose. But," she began, looking up (and Sweetie allowed her), "why?"

Sweetie looked away, and licked her lips, thinking. "You remember how much I made last year?"

"No, you didn't tell me."

So she did, and nodded sadly at the reaction.

"Where do you even keep it?" Scootaloo sputtered, half a smile on her face. "That's incredible - think of everything we can do with that -"

"I have three hundred eighty four million across twelve bank accounts. It's enough to retire, and then some," she replied quietly.

Scootaloo put her hands over her mouth. "I can't believe - really?"

"Yeah."

"Then, yes, you could retire. You could totally retire, and live in an actual good house."

"I already have a good house."

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow. "You don't live in your studio?"

She giggled. "Stop watching the news. Of course I don't. It's not a big house, and everyone thinks it's abandoned, but I have it. I pay the neighbors ten thousand a year each to not tell anyone. Plus, they like me."

"That's insane. Why am I only hearing about this now?" she asked, a huge smile still plastered on her face.

Sweetie frowned, and looked up at her, then away again. _you know why. everything that always happens. you chose this life. it's your decision, live with it._

She looked back at her, and felt a massive surge of emotion unlike anything she'd felt before. In a moment, she was sobbing like a child into her girlfriend's shoulder, and hugging her tighter than she ever had.

"Oh my - w - Sweetie, what's wrong?" Scootaloo asked, hugging back. "Everything's going to be okay, I promise. Did something happen to Rarity?"

She couldn't form words. It was no use, what with the sudden, strange tears. "I - I - c - I can't - it - m -" she stuttered, burying her face into Scootaloo's neck.

"Sweetie Belle," Scootaloo said, lowly. She rarely, rarely used her full name, and had twice today already. When she pulled away, her eyes were stern, and tender, in some absolutely unexplainable way. "Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

She bit her lip, hard, bringing the sobbing to a stop momentarily. "I - I d-don't know what I'm doing, S-Scoots." She attacked the words one at a time, forcing them out. "I d-don't want this. I don't know if I - if I w-want this," she managed, and put a hand on her chest, calming her breathing as well as she could, but failing drastically and falling back to silent, heavy sobs.

"Want what? Money?" She sounded scared, confused. Just like Sweetie.

"Ev-everything," she said, her facial muscles contracting painfully even though she didn't want them to. "I don't kn-know. I - I want to make m-m-music, but it - I just can't handle it," she said, drawing her back into an embrace. "Help m-me. I love you so much."

As she stroked her back and ran a comforting hand down her leg, she felt some kind of weight leave her, like she'd been carrying a mountain and it was suddenly gone. Everything seemed brighter. Better. Her breathing calmed, and her choked sobs fell to small hiccups. The tears were still coming, but not as much. "I love you, too," she heard. "So much."

Her body stopped contracting in a minute or two, and they laid in silence. "... I'm sorry," she began finally, pulling away to face her. "I don't know where that came from."

"It's fine," she said, softly. "I can see how it could mess with your head."

"What I was trying to say, I think, is that I don't know whether I want the fame. It's not fun. I just want to make music, and I want people to like it. But..." She reached for more words. "I like the crowds. And it feels good not being middle-class. I never thought the word 'millionaire' would describe me. I - I have so much money, I have no idea what to do with it," she said, shaking her head. "But I'm so scared, all the time, that people will find out about me. I don't want to be a celebrity."

Scootaloo waited patiently until she was finished. "... I say don't retire," she said. When Sweetie couldn't find a good response, she continued. "If you like some parts of it, we can deal with the rest of it together. I have no musical talent. At all. But if you'd like, I'll help you out."

"But - people might want to -"

"Look, if Ponyville hasn't sold you out yet, they won't sell me out, either. If I surface as your new manager, we can run that facade and I can travel with you."

Sweetie sighed, kissing her gently, and shortly. "I feel bad for Applebloom."

"... Let's bring her along."

Sweetie pursed her lips. "Really?"

"Sure. Intercontinental adventures with the Cutie Mark Crusaders," she returned with that lopsided grin. "How bad could it possibly be?"

Sweetie giggled. "It could be really bad."

Scootaloo nodded in agreement, chuckled, and turned over onto her back. "Hey, what was that third thing?"

Sweetie recalled it immediately, and something in her mind made her immediately adverse to saying it out loud. "... Nothing. Not important."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, and laid a hand across Scootaloo's chest. "Go to sleep. We have to be up early tomorrow."

* * *

The note pages drifted lazily in front of her, back down to her desk. She couldn't get it right. It was a progression she'd never tried before, and she couldn't get it right. It wasn't quite supposed to be bluntly minor or major. She wanted something confusing. Magical. Different.

Suddenly, from what felt like a long way away, she heard a quiet "Hey."

There wasn't enough energy left in her to turn to the doorway. "Hey," she murmured, and picked up her violin again, drawing the bow across the strings and listening with close scrutiny to the notes as they entered and exited existence.

"I need to run to the grocery store. If Mom calls, you know what to do."

She held her fingers tightly on the neck. "... How's Mom doing?"

"She's okay." There was a sudden 'ding' that cut through the hushed conversation. "Oh, that's the new bag. Would you?"

With a soft sigh, she finally looked over at her sister. She wasn't too much older, but she looked it, quite a bit. Her hair wasn't greying, and she far from had wrinkles yet, but she seemed exhausted, and matured. Her sense of fashion was still incredible, for the money they had, and she was holding a small piece of fabric, stitches unfinished. She'd gotten used to wearing her Element nowadays, though she was only called twice since they'd moved.

She stood, stretched, and brushed past her and out to the door.

They tried not to show too much of their cluttered little house to the mailman, except when he was delivering - then Sweetie always invited him in. She swung the door open and smiled brightly, half-forcing it, half-feeling it. "Good morning, Mr. Sails."

"Good afternoon," Mr. Sails corrected, quaintly tipping his little box-hat. He levitated the small cardboard box out to her and took out his clipboard. "That'll be 28 bits," he said, and she signed, then held up her violin. Finally, he smiled. "Let me hear it."

They always sat at the dining room table, and Sweetie always had to explain what she would be playing before she started, and it always took a good five minutes. But Mr. Sails would always wait. This time, she'd grabbed the unfinished piece by mistake, rather than the sonata she'd finished a week ago, so that had to be well-explained.

"Sorry, it's just that I can't get past the sixty-sixth measure. So it'll be really short until I figure out a way to fix that. Would you rather me go upstairs and get the other...?"

He shook his head. "Play whatever you have, dear," like he called her sometimes.

She pursed her lips. "... Alright," she replied, and began.

This piece, she'd started slow. Something got inside her brain to challenge the shape and size and speed of a sonata, but keep it technically a 'sonata'. She'd started slow, but she was going to build until she was basically fiddling.

Her fingers danced over the strings. She liked watching them. The movements themselves seemed disconnected from her brain - they were just a second nature, like language. Anyone can talk without using their brain, and she could play like that. The wood vibrated against her cheek as the gradual changes began, and she closed her eyes.

For the next couple minutes, the small house was filled with the fluctuations and intricacies of Sweetie Belle's creation.

It really was only a couple minutes' piece, if that, and it ended sadly. Ugly, really. Accidentals, supposed to be leading to a huge finish, and stopping on that chord she couldn't place. She finished awkwardly, taking the violin off her chin and setting the bow on her lap, tagged with a final, hesitant "That's it."

Mr. Sails smiled, tipping his hat quaintly again, his eye twinkling. "Paid in full," he said in his high-pitched, aged voice, and, with a small wave, took his leave.

Sweetie was left alone in the kitchen for a moment, and laid her violin on the table. Did he say afternoon? With a bit of a start, she looked at the clock. 4:58. Lucky her.

The pack was almost empty. _Probably only one or two left, now_ , she thought, as she checked the drawer she'd 'stashed' them in. One. Two, one was hiding under the lid flap. She tapped the end to push one out. It was a ten-pack, and one was gone to start. It had been nine days.

 _Time of death, five o'clock P.M._

She touched the lighter gently, running her thumb over the little shield stamp in the semi-ionized steel.

 _Cause of death: heart failure due to physical stress._

With a small bell, the clock chimed five, and she stepped out onto the back porch, taking off her jacket and tossing to the side. She snapped the starter and watched the flame touch the end, taking a shallow breath.

She'd gotten used to it. It was hers now, her memory, her rest-in-peace. The bitter taste of death.

It wasn't all she remembered about him - she'd always thought she couldn't have a better father. No one knew him like she did - she could've guessed he worked himself to death. Cause: physical stress. And they said smoking would kill him.

She sat in the wrought-iron deck chair and rested her elbows on her legs, waiting for the cigarette to go out. She heard Rarity walk by the door, and figured she saw. But Sweetie knew she understood.

That was the last time she would cry in three years.

* * *

The sun hadn't risen yet, but its light was shining against the upper stratosphere, and everything slowly became bluer as she watched. She looked back at Scootaloo, who'd forgone with covers as the morning approached. For some reason, naked wasn't sexy deep into sleep. It was just... sort of a state of being.

It was about time. She walked away from the window, and her memories, and put a hand on Scootaloo's shoulder, shaking her awake. "Hey. We gotta go. You're all packed?"

"Huh? That was - mf," she began, sitting up and stretching. "It is morning," she said dully, patting her stomach and chest. "Skin. Clothes. Packed? Yes."

"I hope you're not hungover. Go drink water."

"Okay," she agreed, rubbing at her eyes and sliding out of bed, stumbling to the kitchen.

She looked back out the window again, watching the blue begin to touch the dark trees in front of the apartment and tinge them with turquoise. That day, she remembered Rarity had come out to sit with her.

'He never wanted you doing that,' she had said, not looking at her.

'He's dead now,' she'd replied callously, tears still on her cheeks as she inhaled, deeply.

Rarity had looked at her, the mask she usually wore as the stronger older sister completely disintegrating in front of her. Pain, condolement. Worry, anxiety. Fond remembrances, maybe. She reached out a hand, a clear memory of Sweetie's.

As she reflected now, she may have been asking for the box, what was left. But what was left was just the one cigarette, and Sweetie handed that to her, and the lighter second. She remembered Rarity staring at them, her face blank. Then she lifted it to her lips and lit it.

They sat, smoke slowly drifting away, floating upwards and onwards. They sat for probably ten minutes, silent. Then Rarity touched her shoulder, delicately, and went back inside. She wouldn't forget that day.

"I forgot, my clothes are in here," Scootaloo said, her words cutting through Sweetie's thoughts like a flashlight into the dark.

"Well, get dressed. We have to go in a few minutes."

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" she asked, exasperated, and Sweetie heard her trip over something.

"You looked cute asleep, curled up over the covers." She chuckled. "Don't you have a sense of romance?"

"No, apparently not," she snapped, the thumping sound recurring. "Why is this box here, even?!"

Sweetie laughed. "Come on, we might catch our private plane if we hurry."

After a few seconds of 'romantically-charged' debate, Sweetie agreed to leave the room as she got dressed, and waited half-asleep on the couch until Scootaloo was done a couple minutes later.

"I packed a bunch of granola bars," she said, tossing Sweetie her backpack and rolling her luggage. Her eyes were unusually wide, even though it was pre-morning. She'd probably already eaten two or three granola bars. Scootaloo was always a bit odd about granola bars. "It's in the West Fields?"

"Yup. You okay there, Scoots?"

"What? Oh, yeah." She smiled brightly and shuffled her feet. "Just excited."

Sweetie smiled. "I know how you feel." She stood and kissed her. Once, twice. Oh, three. "I gotta go. I'll be waiting in front of the plane."

* * *

The West Fields were also known as the Windy Fields for good reason. She didn't have to worry too much about her dress , though - one, because of her jeans, and two, because she was still recharging her invisibility whenever it began to wear off. Just in case.

Her pilot, Open Skies, was a cloudwalker like Scootaloo, but specialized in taking 'grounded' folks wherever they needed to go. The first time she'd gone vacationing with Scootaloo, two years ago, the first year of her star-ness, she'd had plenty of questions. Who was he, how could he be trusted. Well, outside of the substantial settlement she gave him, she trusted him. He was just a normal, quiet kinda guy, didn't want fame. And didn't particularly like music.

She'd told him she was there with a couple taps to the shoulder, and now they were just waiting on Scootaloo. When she finally appeared over the hill, her rolling suitcase hanging lazily in the air behind her, and touched down in front of the plane, they were about ready to take off. Quick suitcase stashing and headphones and they climbed in and started up, no problems.

The engine sputtered to life and the three-seater taxied for a couple hundred yards before taking off, ascending quickly. Once they were far enough from the ground, and in some good cloud cover in case of nosy fliers, she countered her invisibility.

"Hey, Scoots," she said through the comm set.

Scootaloo tried to speak, but Sweetie heard nothing, and tried to sign that over. It worked, to a degree, and she fiddled with the buttons on the side.

"This is your captain speaking," Skies said in his normal, jovial voice. "Over the master channel, that is, channel one. If you'd like to talk on channel three, I won't be listening in. If you want to talk to me, not to each other, five. Seven and up are radio channels." He chuckled, the headphone frequency making it tinny and distorted. "Be prepared for four hours, ladies."

Scootaloo fiddled a bit more, and after only two more tries, got "Hear me now?" through.

Sweetie nodded, and smiled. "I do indeed." The smile disappeared in a second, though. "You okay? You look kind of pale. Is it the plane?"

Scootaloo looked down at her hands, squeezing her fingers together in discomfort. "I don't - I dunno," she replied, with a little noise squeezed in at the end.

"Well, if you're sick, there are bags, I think," Sweetie said. "Right?" she asked Skies, who nodded. "Kinda odd, considering you literally flew here."

"Oh, uh, I don't - I don't fly sitting down. It was like this last time, too, don't you remember?"

"Not particularly," Sweetie replied, raising an eyebrow and chalking it up to nerve.

Scootaloo stared over at her, her eyes still wide. It was kind of beginning to scare Sweetie, so she looked away, out the window, for a moment, and turned back to check. Scootaloo had begun her attack on the buttons again. When she'd finished, she closed her eyes and appeared to mutter something. Nothing Sweetie could hear, though.

"Woah, uh, wrong line there, honey, you're looking for one button hit below," she heard Skies say over the master channel, and she laughed.

Scootaloo scowled, and jammed a finger at the controls. "I found the ring," she blurted, loud and clear in Sweetie's headset.

She stopped laughing.

"That was the third thing, wasn't it."

She was hit with an unplaced frustration. "This isn't the time to talk about this," she said, lowly, her voice scraping the high end of a growl. "We're, like, 8000 feet in the air, and we're talking over a comm set."

"I think we should talk about it."

"Do you have no sense of romance?" Sweetie snapped, turning towards her. "We're going to an island chain known for its multicolored sunsets and beautiful white beaches, and you absolutely ruin all the imagery I had in my head by bringing it up now?" She scoffed. "You weren't even supposed to know! How did you find the ring?"

Scootaloo was still pale, and still messing with her fingers. "I was trying to fit a granola bar into your backpack," she said quietly, "and I opened the wrong pocket."

Sweetie looked over at her, immobile for a second. She still wasn't looking at her, just down at her hands. Granola bars. She burst out laughing, clipping the headset's microphone badly. "Granola bars -" she managed, before laughing more. After a couple moments, it slowed and died, and she wiped at her eyes. "Wow," she said finally, with another laugh. "You know what, fine. I'll do it when we hit cruising." She switched to master. "Skies, when do -"

"I don't know, though," Scootaloo's voice, small, thin, interrupted her.

The remnants of her smile fell away, all at once. Crashed. Her heart fell into her stomach. She sat back more in her seat, staring at the back of the captain's head for a few seconds. Her mind was running with all kinds of thoughts. Why was at the forefront. In fact, it was recurring enough that she managed to ask it, albeit in an accidental whimper. "... Why?"

Scootaloo remained silent, but the pilot cut it. "You may want to change your channel back, Goddess," he said, unnaturally calm for the situation. She did, and waited.

"I don't want to be married," Scootaloo replied, softly, only just audible over the noises from outside of the headphones.

She clasped her hands together. "... Why?" she repeated, perhaps even quieter.

"I think - I think it might change things."

She finally looked over. "No, it won't. I promise it won't. It'll be just like always, but we'll know - we'll know we'll always be there for each other."

"Don't we already?" she asked meekly.

Sweetie ground her teeth together, thinking. "How about we can legally share my bank accounts? That's good."

"Sweetie," Scootaloo said, looking over at her, fear clear in her eyes. "I can't do this. I'm - I..." she trailed off, looking away. "I'm terrified."

Sweetie felt the burn behind her eyes. Yes, it was childish. Of course Scootaloo's reaction was logical. But her selfish mind wasn't thinking that kind of thing through too well at the moment. "But... I love you."

"No - no, no, I - I love you too, but -"

"But what? That's all we need, isn't it?" She felt some kind of panic rise in her voice. It should have been there, but it certainly was. "I don't know how this kind of thing works!"

"But what? But I don't know, okay?" Scootaloo replied, leaving her mouth open, thinking through her sentence. "Does it mean..." She left her mouth open. "Is it starting a family."

It hit Sweetie all at once. Her breath became less shallow, her internal organs returned to their original places. She almost smiled at her own stubborn idiocy. Instead, she switched to pilot channel. "When are we going to hit cruising?"

"About ten minutes," came the reply.

She switched back. "Give it ten minutes, alright?" she asked gently, and reached out to take her hand, and squeezed it hard. "For now, let's talk."

"... About what?"

She inhaled. "I know about your childhood. And I'm sorry I didn't see it when we were kids," she added, looking over at her. She wasn't looking back. "What if I swear to you that that never happens to us?"

"How can you?" Scootaloo asked quietly.

"I could never do that to you," she replied, her voice breaking.

"That's what my parents said." Her voice had become little more than a subhuman hush. "They loved each other, too. And then stuff happened and the state took me. You know to tragic backstory."

Sweetie bit her lip. It calmed her down. "You - you just have to trust me, okay? Do you trust me?" she asked, leaning over to her.

Scootaloo swallowed, audibly, and nodded short little nods. "I do. You know that."

"Then why would you say no?"

Silence.

"Scootaloo?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Do you... want to have kids?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know. Too soon, okay?"

"Okay. That's okay," she said, and clasped her hand in her own.

A moment of silence again, only padded by the warmth of one another's hands. "Do you think you would say yes?"

Scootaloo didn't reply. She just made a noise.

"I'm going to do it anyways, okay?"

"... Okay."

It didn't feel like ten minutes passed when Skies called out cruising altitude. Technically, on a small plane, they weren't meant to stand at all, but whatever. This was important.

She reached into her bag, behind her, found the small box, and helped Scootaloo to her feet, before kneeling.

Scootaloo had lost her paleness, and was now flushed red. "Do we have to do the knee thing?"

"That's how it works," Sweetie replied, looking up at her, smiling lightly. With a final, focusing inhale, she began. "Scootaloo."

She put a hand up. "When do I say the thing?"

"I have to ask the question first. Lemme start over." She cleared her throat. "Scootaloo -"

Suddenly, the plane hit turbulence, and everything was tossed at a 45 degree angle left. She was able to catch the box, but slammed forwards into Scootaloo, who then slammed backwards into the side of the plane.

"Oh, no. You alright, Scoots?" she asked, worriedly, helping her to her feet again, and hugging her tightly i the smallish space they had.

"I'm good. Do you - do you wanna try again?"

Sweetie looked at the captain, who was completely silent. He didn't even appear to have noticed. No backwards mirrors. "Okay," she said, taking a knee again. "One more time."

She cleared her throat and began. "Scootaloo. I've known you for almost a full decade now." She closed her eyes, to remember. The things she memorized always escaped her at the crucial moments. "In that almost-a-decade, we've had some amazing times together. It was two years too late that we realized we were supposed to be together."

Scootaloo stood, rather solemn, with her hands behind her back, staring down at her. She caught a hint of a smile escape, and solidify.

She looked up, a thoughtless smile on her own face. "I don't know how to explain it, but I've loved you more than I've loved anyone my entire life. There's no one who deserves this more than you." That was sappy. When did she write this?

She opened the small box, revealing the ring inside. Specific measurements, rose-gold with a large morganite and four diamonds. Designed special by internationally renowned artist Silver Socket. Simple, but striking. It still shone like new. "W-" She caught herself on the word. "Will you marry me?"

After a bit of a tense second, Scootaloo knelt down, as well, and Sweetie groaned. "You're not supposed to do that."

"I know," Scootaloo replied with her grin, and leaned forwards, kissing her. Given the circumstances, it should not have been the best kiss she'd ever had in her entire life, and yet that it was. She'd never felt so much love in something, ever. Anything. Scootaloo laid a hand on her cheek, and pulled away. "And I will."

"You -"

Scootaloo nodded, the grin becoming an actual, full smile in a fraction of a second. Sweetie smiled in return, and, with shaking fingers, took the ring from the little box and slid it carefully over her ring finger. It stopped at her second joint. She sighed, and slipped the ring onto Scootaloo's pinkie instead. "Whatever..." she trailed off, and laughed. And laughed again. And kissed her fiancée.

Scootaloo laughed with her, and leaned in for a not-so-calm embrace. Sweetie felt the familiar warmth all the way across her, and some new gate of happiness had been opened for her instantaneously. She cried as she laughed, and held Scootaloo tightly. There were no guidelines, no plans on how to react. She just couldn't believe she'd gone through with it.

Scootaloo pulled away eventually, and wiped at her own eyes. "I..." she trailed off, falling from the knee and sitting back against her seat. "I don't know what we're going to do now. But -" She paused. "I'm engaged," she said, and laughed. "I don't believe it. I'm getting married. I never thought..." She trailed off, into tears, which she wiped off as quickly as she could. "I don't know."

Sweetie sat next to her, reaching her arms around her, trying not to upset the headphones. "I don't know either. We just have to take the world one step at a time, huh?"

"I got engaged to my best friend today," she said, running a hand through Sweetie's hair, and letting it rest on her neck. Her eyes, shiny violet, were just the cherries on top of everything. She kissed her again. What else was there to do?

It got a bit heated, and died down, like everything does eventually. They had to return to their seats before landing, but kept their hands together. And Sweetie, despite herself, couldn't keep from staring into Scootaloo's eyes.

* * *

The island was beautiful, in the afternoon. The resort and such had to be taken care of quickly, and subtly. Sweetie was able to magically dye her hair dark blue and pink, for a week, and straighten it. She'd need to fix it after that week, but hey, a disguise is a disguise. And for the eyes - contacts. Not hard.

In the afternoon, the fall was settling in on a summer town - a northeasterly had come in and, rather than a violent wind, was simply a cool breeze that seemed to shut down the sun. After the hecticness with the resort, they'd simply taken a walk down the beach, along a white cobblestone path down a long, thin strip.

Scootaloo couldn't stop talking, it seemed like. Marriage this and marriage that. Sweetie had the whole thing planned for next Saturday, of course, but they could discuss that that evening, before bed. Or during bed. What mattered was that she was excited, just like Sweetie was.

Eventually, they came upon a bright white cove, sheltered on either side by the shadows of the lowering sun on the trees behind them. Black, white, green, red, blue. Tranquility. There was a bench nearby, and they sat on it, close, their hands in a tangled mess with one another's.

"So... now that this is actually happening," Scootaloo said, her voice dropping as she took off her sunglasses and stuffed them into her hoodie pocket, "are you really thinking about retiring?"

She stared out at the hypnotically moving waves. "... I don't know," she replied after a beat, aware of the huge lack of closure. It didn't sit right. The month wouldn't last forever, and where would she go from there?

"I get wh-"

A series of short beeps interrupted her, and she tapped the button on the side of her watch. "Sorry. Do you mind?"

Scootaloo shook her head, and Sweetie started one up, blowing the grey smoke over their elegant pastoral.

She sighed, her legs crossed, her head supported by Scootaloo's arm. She felt like she should be wearing a summer dress, or a gown, or something fiancée and island at the same time - at least she did earlier. Now, the tank top and the beat-up jeans (she'd since forcefully removed the skirt) seemed proper.

"You know why I do it," Sweetie commented, breathing in again.

"I do." Scootaloo paused. "I met him, a few times. Never saw him smoking. He was young."

"He was."

Scootaloo dropped her arm down around Sweetie's midsection. "Do you think he would've wanted to see you like this?"

Sweetie tapped the ashes off. "He's dead now."

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"... Gimme one."

Sweetie looked over. "I can't do that. What if you get addicted, or something? It'd be my fault."

Scootaloo grinned. "Whatever happens, happens. Gimme one or I'm divorcing you."

Sweetie giggled, and looked down into the box. One left. She stared at it for a moment, and handed it over with the lighter.

Scootaloo looked over the lighter. "Nice design." And then the cigarette. "So, I just inhale?"

"Yeah, bring it into your lungs. Don't swallow it."

"Okay. Lemme see," she muttered, and lit the end. The right one, thankfully. Half the first breath and she was coughing.

Sweetie laughed. "I knew it. No one can take a cigarette right their first time."

Scootaloo covered her mouth and leaned forwards, coughing. "I can - see - why," she said in-between coughs. "It's awful."

She looked over at Sweetie, whose cigarette was still hanging loosely from her mouth, and took another try. It went down better.

For a few minutes, they sat together, staring at the waves. Scootaloo refused to put her arm anywhere else.

Just when she was about done, a younger man with silly shorts came by jogging in the shade. They assumed he was going to pass, but he slowed. "Oh, hey, are you two Goddess fans, too?" he asked, motioning to the cigarettes.

Scootaloo looked at Sweetie, who had to try hard to suppress a grin. "Maybe," she said. "Of a sort. What's your favorite Goddess album?"

" _Sunburst_. Obviously. Packs the most punch. Also, her rap voice is just amazing. I had no idea the voice she used for the _Goddess_ album would work so well like that, right?" He beamed, jogging in place a little. "I'm listening to _Black Adder_ right now. It's mental."

"Where are you staying tonight?" Sweetie asked.

He chuckled nervously. _No, we're not suggesting what you're thinking, guy, don't even go there._ "Um, not here, sadly. I'm flying out at nine."

Sweetie giggled, and turned to Scootaloo. "I'm not ready to retire just yet," she said with a little grin.

Scootaloo looked up at the guy, who looked mildly confused, and back at Sweetie. She shook her head. "Don't do it."

No one could stop her once she was already in motion. She stood, walked over to him, and in a smooth motion, countered the hair dyes and straightener and levitated out her contacts. And kissed him on the lips. She stood back, and smiled. "No one will ever believe you," she said, just loud enough for him to hear. And, in a second, disappeared.

His eyes opened wide, a bit of a delay, and he stepped back. "Wh -" was all he could articulate.

He whipped his head to Scootaloo, who looked back and forth, and shrugged. "She's weird like that," she said, before disappearing, too.

They receded to the bushes and giggled until they thought they were going to fall apart.


	2. To Kill A Goddess, II - A Pastel Holiday

Sunlight - a spring warm color that mixes yellows and oranges and blues and slowly fades into existence on the bright white satin sheets like opening credits to a new day. A terrible sight to see if preceded by five hours of the moon and stars' pale greys.

She was looking down at the sheets, as she had been for what felt like something between minutes and days. When the sunlight began to show, she shut her eyes quickly, in an all-too-sudden realization that perhaps a couple hours' sleep would help her manage tomorrow. Today, that is.

It wasn't quite too late to sleep, but her thoughts stewed in her mind for a good seventy seconds before they merged into a dream. The thoughts were disconnected, but whole, and seemed to have some kind of mass, like they couldn't be pushed away. _it's your ring and she's yours forever now. be happy with it, she promised you_

 _like promises haven't been broken before. the size of the rocks in your head Scootaloo_

 _shut up and let me sleep and I can talk to her in the morning_

 _don't you'll make her lose her confidence_

And her brain ran out of words and set itself cleanly on a backburner, letting its owner drift away.

* * *

She was shaken awake, the dreams falling from her and the weight of the fabrics on her suddenly detectable. "What is it morning," she said subconsciously, covering her face with her hands.

"I need to start writing those down," Sweetie replied with a laugh. It made her smile. Internally. Her brain wasn't connected to her face yet. "I got room service, but that's kind of moot, 'cause it's, like, ten or so."

She sat up, or, rather, back against the headboard, and yawned openly, her eyes still closed solid. "I can't eat yet," she mumbled. "Too early."

"It's ten."

"Yeah," she said, rubbing at her face and feeling an arm around her waist followed closely by a body against her side. "I'm not started."

"Well, get started, because we have a pretty full day ahead of us," she heard, quietly, and then felt lips on her shoulder, then her neck. It still sent a little chill down her back, and always would.

She returned the tender of affection that followed - silent, sincere, still. It threw the thoughts from the night before into her head. Had she agreed with herself _not_ to bring it up? Or _to_ bring it up? It probably didn't matter.

She pulled away, and opened her eyes, finally, to be greeted with bright green eyes and a grin. Sweetie was playful this morning.

A smile found its way onto her face, just for a moment, and fell away as quickly as it came. It didn't feel real. It was still her best friend - who was a pianist, who was kind of a dork, who hated mustard, who won a call-in competition once - that was lying on her skin-to-skin and kissing her relentlessly. For the last five on-and-off years, it had been okay; she loved Sweetie, and Sweetie loved her back. But now they were going to be something else. Something official.

And yet this qualm disappeared quickly. With more fervor, she leaned into it, and wrapped her arms around her. She heard Sweetie giggle in a moment, and heard herself return it. Maybe she didn't want it, but she was content. That's what's important, right? She shoved those thoughts with mass to the back of her mind.

"Hey -" she began, pulling away for a moment, "what are we doing today?"

"Mm - well, we're going to eat at a really fancy someplace for lunch, and we're going to learn scuba diving from something like three to five," she said, moving down and laying her head on Scootaloo's chest. "Then there's a huge party I may or may not have planned at the beach down the road and I brought Martin's and really big sparklers," she added in almost a slur as she reached an arm across Scootaloo and hugged her gently. "It's going to be a fun day."

"You brought Martin's?" Scootaloo asked, sitting up a bit more. "Sweet."

"Duh, of course I did. I do every year," she replied, and finally sat up, sliding off the canopy bed. "Let's collect seashells and stuff, too. And do mini-golf."

"If we have the time. You packed us up, lady."

"Well," she replied, and laughed. "We have a whole month to do what we want."

"Yeah," Scootaloo replied. She smiled, more to herself, as Sweetie excused herself to get ready. "Yeah, we do."

* * *

The day wasn't quite humid, but it was hot. The year before, they'd gone parallel, not down, and stayed pretty well away from the equator. This year, not so much. The natural sea breezes were likely the only way people could live on the islands, all things considered, and it was the best counterbalance Scootaloo had ever felt.

The 'fancy restaurant' had been in the resort they were staying at, at the end of a sort of museum-slash-hall decorated with centuries of the islands' history and bright gold chandeliers and candlestick holders. It seemed to lead up well, until they hit the restaurant bit. The food was, in a word, unrecognizable; it was certainly memorable, but not by any means a good lunch.

'Hey,' Scootaloo had said, grasping Sweetie's hand. 'It's fine. We have a month.'

Sweetie didn't say anything, and looked away.

Of course, she started right up again after they left, beautiful this and beautiful that. Scootaloo felt herself responding more and more as they walked down the main street, noticing what Sweetie was going on about after a few minutes.

The condos, once various bright colors, had dulled in the wind, and mass-produced met handmade along the facades with constructs made of beach debris and canvas. It seemed like they were in a picture book, complete with pastel illustration. Sweetie was even in a bright yellow sundress, like they'd gone back five decades. Or maybe it was timeless. Regardless, her t-shirt was wildly out of place.

"It's mundane, though," Sweetie was saying, as they strolled past a candy shop, "but I kind of like that. I've seen too much city in the past few years. This is... nice, isn't it?"

Scootaloo caught her glance, and smirked, squeezing her hand but saying nothing. There wasn't anyone else around, not really; there were a couple dozen who were window-shopping down the street, so it wasn't exactly lonely, but it wasn't summer-crowded.

Sweetie smiled, and turned away. "It's nice."

"I don't like you with straight hair," Scootaloo commented after a moment, looking around as though she thought someone was watching, but the sidewalks were bare and the taller buildings had died streets ago. It was just them, an old stoplight, and an empty plot of land leading to the seaside beach.

Sweetie turned to her, and turned to the beach, coming to a stop. "I don't either."

"Do you think the color is enough of a disguise?"

She looked back, and rolled her eyes with a small smile. "You're so demanding," she teased, and a pale green wave flowed over her hair from her open hand, the curls returning shortly after. "If I get caught now, it's your fault."

"Well, thbpt," she replied with a chuckle, and kissed her cheek gently. "You said the mini-golf place was on fourth street?"

"It's still a while down. Odd they don't have more than one, right?"

"Yeah, it's weird," Scootaloo replied, half-attentive. Her mind had fallen back to her questions, and they did nothing but aggravate her. She looked at her ring, which she was still wearing on her pinky. Rose gold. Pink... with her purple hair? She smiled, finding what was probably the intentional coincidence.

"I never asked you whether you liked it," Sweetie began, her voice only just above the light rush of the wind.

"Sweetie," she replied, closing her hand and watching the sun reflect on the stones. "You know."

She felt an arm around her back and laid her head on her fiancée's, her smile refusing to fade. There wasn't anything, on the face of it, to be scared of. It was beautiful, and not in a pastel way. In a champagne and satin way. "It's probably the prettiest thing I've ever owned," she murmured.

"Don't be silly. If that's what you think, prepare your P.O. box," Sweetie giggled, and dragged her back into a walk.

She stuffed her hand in the pocket of her hoodie (which was around her waist by then). "No, it's awesome. I'm -"

Her phone tinkled (or whatever the noise was), and she let out a little nervous laugh. "Sorry. An email."

"You brought your work phone?"

"What? Oh," she replied, her voice falling. "Uh... I forgot to tell you this, too."

Scootaloo stopped, and turned to her. "What's 'this'? 'Too'? I don't understand."

"I know, I haven't told you yet." She paused, looking for words. "Um... do you remember the one teenage girl I said I gave my signature to?"

Scootaloo felt her muscles seize. "You didn't."

Sweetie looked down. "Yeah."

"Agh," she groaned, and put her thumb and forefinger on the bridge of her nose, battling the headache that was sure to come. "I love you, man, but you gotta stop pulling this kind of thing."

"I know, I know. But..." she trailed off. "You weren't there. It was kind of sad. She stutters."

"Celestia, Sweetie Belle, who cares?" Scootaloo cried, putting her hands on her head and forcing herself not to pace. That kind of thing happened way too often, and the fact that she just seemed to disregard the impact it could have frustrated her to no end. "I bet a bunch of little girls stutter, but you can't one-on-one all of them!"

"Yeah, I know," Sweetie replied, crossing her arms defensively. "It was the heat of the moment and everything, but I think... I felt that it was right. I still do." She stopped, and dug her phone out of her inner pocket. "In fact, I bet I'd do it again. Her name is Lily-White, and she wants to play the guitar."

Scootaloo forgot about her attempt to not pace, and began walking a little infinity sign on the ground, her hands still on her head. "What if she talks about it at school? How can you deny it? What if it gets out, and Ponyville gets exposed? You have to think!" She felt the volume of her voice rising, but that happened when she got anxious.

She wasn't paying attention to Sweetie until she noticed she wasn't responding. She looked over - and Sweetie was tapping away on her phone, her lips pursed (classic upset Sweetie Belle) and her face red.

"What are you saying to her?"

"I'm telling her where we are."

"What? No!" Scootaloo shouted, grabbing for the phone and fumbling with it for a second, watching it float in the air like it was in slow-motion before landing face-down on the ground. It wasn't important enough to waste time talking about right then. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I trust her!" Sweetie cried, raising her voice in the first time in... well, in what felt like years. Scootaloo shrunk back a little. She yelled, quite a bit, but she never expected Sweetie to. "She respects me too much to compromise me," Sweetie continued, apparently legitimately angry. That wasn't on purpose. She couldn't figure out, in her muddied thoughts, why that was happening.

"I'm sorry -"

"I mean, wow! I'm the one who needs it, I think I'd know how to keep myself safe," Sweetie continued, her voice lowering to seething levels. Her face was still angry, but her voice was almost calm, aside from the spit consonants. It didn't make Scootaloo any more comfortable. "I made a split-second call. I trust her."

Scootaloo regained composure, shortly. She took a deep breath. "... I'm sorry," she tried again.

Sweetie said nothing, but levitated her phone back to her. "No crack," she murmured, and slipped it back into her pocket.

Scootaloo clenched her teeth. "Listen. You have to start telling me everything. We..." she trailed off, her hand hovering a bit before she tentatively laced her fingers with Sweetie's. "We're gonna get married soon. I need to know this kind of thing."

Sweetie looked away, and looked back, pulling away, her arms folded again. "I -" she began, and looked away. "I want you to trust _me_. A lot more than I trust _her_."

"No, Sweetie, I... but..." She paused, her mouth moving uselessly. She saw movement to the right - there were a couple people making their way past, enough for her to stall and frame her words. "Let's move to the side of the road, okay?"

There was a moment as they moved that she caught Sweetie's eyes, the contacts sharp ice-blue, and thought for a second she understood. Perhaps. They leaned up against a brick wall under the shade of a tree behind it and looked at the people as they walked on by. "... Do you really think I don't trust you?"

Sweetie fiddled with the bow on the front of her dress for a moment. "You did say yes," she replied, sighing lightly.

Scootaloo glanced down at her ring. "I did."

"I - I can't have you get scared everytime I do something like this," she managed, finally. "The fame is mine. You can't get all tense over it, okay?"

"But I will. I always will, and you know it."

"At least, when I make a decision, let it go." she replied quietly, firmly. "Sometimes, I just know that what I do is right. You worry too much, and you - you don't have a right to."

Scootaloo couldn't respond. It was true, no doubt. Whenever Sweetie talked about how famous she got, it put her a little on-edge. That fame was what delayed her return home - to her. The fame scared her and put her in situations beyond her. The fame stressed her and made her a target and sometimes Scootaloo felt that it wasn't safe for her so she had to manage it as well as she could. "I know," she said simply.

Sweetie looked over at her. "I'll tell you everything. From here on out. Okay?"

Scootaloo nodded, and looked at the ground herself, her words dying in her mouth. "I'm sorry," she repeated finally, weakly.

Sweetie grabbed both her hands, and swung her back around to her side. "We can talk later, I think. We shouldn't let this ruin the day."

She was dappled by the tree's shadow, and her little smile was showing like it did sometimes when they'd argued before. Scootaloo would be better to her. As well as she could. "Alright."

The phone buzzed again, and Sweetie looked down at it. "She asked why I would tell her that." A pause. "No reason," she said under her breath, and tapped at the screen. "I trust you not to tell anyone."

Scootaloo looked down at the screen, and chuckled despite herself when she saw the conversation.

 _My name is Sweetie Belle_

 _why would you tell me that?_

 _Proving a point to someone_

* * *

"I've got an idea," Sweetie was saying, breaching a new subject as they continued their ambling walk. "Maybe I could make an album with, like, every song - or song title, or something, being about an individual _part_ of something. Ooh," she interrupted herself, looking over at her. "I could do it about you."

They were about the same height, with perhaps only a centimeter difference, one-love Scootaloo, but whenever she mentioned her music, she towered over her. Regardless of her personal talent (or lack of), she would definitely say she was a fan. But no fan of Goddess was just a _fan_. Goddess was a cornerstone, and everytime Sweetie brought it up, Scootaloo remembered and felt nothing but power like it was emanating from her. "Nah," she replied, feeling the blush before it even happened. "I'm not a muse."

She never seemed to understand her talent. She knew she worked for it, and people liked it, but she didn't understand that she was a revolutionary. "Of course you are," like it was nothing. "You're _my_ muse."

"...What if people find out?"

"Oh, will you stop with that?" Sweetie groaned melodramatically. "It's been three years, and I haven't been able to write anything about you. Well, I did make an instrumental secretly about you."

Scootaloo swallowed. She said 'instrumental', so it was less terrifying and more endlessly exciting. "Th - thanks," she stammered, and felt the blush more heavy than ever.

"Wow, your face is really red. A lot. You okay?"

"I'm just - thanks," she replied, stuffing her hands into her hoodie pocket.

She heard her laugh, clear and warm. "It was the title track from _Grey Ghost._ "

Scootaloo laughed. "Flattering."

"No, it meant, like, I meant influence. Like a grey ghost. I kept the track calm and smooth, like it was comforting. Did you hear it?"

She shook her head and laughed again. "Sweetie," she said, throwing an arm over her shoulders, "I've heard it. Thank you very much."

Sweetie returned her smile. "It was nothing. You know." She stopped herself, and her smile fell as she looked up. "Oh, no."

"What? Oh." They were right next to the mini-golf, finally - and the main attraction, a huge plastic volcano fountain, was covered with a thick tarp. The old, rusty Gothic gate was padlocked, and the buildings behind them had their lights off. "... Closed for repairs," she said in monotone, with a little groan.

"No! That's not fair! We walked for, like, half an hour to get here!"

"Well, whatever, you know, we can just go get ice cream -"

"No, we can't. This was the plan, and it's going to go the way I want it to." She tightened the front of her dress and walked angrily up to the gate, looking around inside. "We're mini-golfing."

"I don't see how. We're not going to break in." Sweetie glanced back, a gleam in her eye and a playfully insidious smirk. "... Are we going to break in?"

"Fly us over."

Scootaloo licked her lips, looking right and left down the street. Most of the shops around were closed, but there were a few afternoon strollers. "I can't, there are people watching. We're gonna get arrested. This is, like, eight kinds of illegal."

Sweetie groaned. "Fine," she submitted, and looked down the street like Scootaloo did. "We can go around back."

"Sweetie -"

"Oh, just shut up and do it. It'll be fun."

Scootaloo couldn't resist a broken smile when she felt the tingle in her chest. Whenever they did something like this, and they had before, Scootaloo wasn't the cautious one or Sweetie the rambunctious one; they were equals - partners in crime. Quite literally. "You know what, fine. I'll follow you."

They giggled together, a blend of nerve and electric anticipation, as they slid around the back of the gated area, in the shadows of the olive trees around them. Scootaloo held Sweetie tightly around the middle and kicked off, over onto the other side. The extra weight was difficult to manage, but not at all impossible. "You alright?" she asked, cracking her knuckles and looking around again.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think my foot hit a spike, but it was dull. Practice, practice, practice," she teased, poking at her chest.

"Lose some weight, then we'll talk," she replied with a nasty grin, and pushed her hand away, laughing at her reaction.

"That's messed up!"

"That's the point. What's the plan, Candyman?"

Sweetie cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "You've been waiting years to use that pun."

" _Years_ ," Scootaloo agreed, nodding.

"We're going to break into the rental room, get some clubs and balls, and play, and I'm going to win."

"That's a terrible plan." She shivered, jittery, and grinned. "Let's do it," she said, already starting off for the dirty white building with Sweetie quick behind her.

* * *

She played with her hoodie strings as she waited on the concrete outside of the door, pulling them back and forth and continually sneaking looks out the gate a couple yards away, watching the unsuspecting passerby and making sure they were staying that way - unsuspecting and passing by.

She heard footsteps from behind her and a shiver ran up her spine, but heard a chipper whisper - "You get the pink one." The ball landed flatly in her lap, dirty and sunbleached after years of play.

"Any problems?"

"No. They didn't even magic-proof the door." She chuckled. "We can be in and out in half an hour, and everything'll be just as we found it."

"Cool," she replied, and tossed the ball in the air, taking the neon green club from Sweetie. "I bet you sixty million bits I'm better at mini-golf."

"Deal," Sweetie said, shaking her hand and grinning. "May the best pop star win."

"Eh, stick it."

* * *

"And here it comes, down to the final hole," Sweetie was saying, cupping her hand around her mouth and using a faux-deep announcer voice. They were near the gate, but completely hidden by the volcano and tarp, plus all the ivy nearby. "Sweetie Belle down fifty-four points, giving Scootaloo no chance at all to make it."

Scootaloo flung her club over her shoulder and stared at her, her eyebrow raised. " _I'm_ down two. _You're_ up twelve."

"Well, you're the sportsy one," Sweetie whined, tossing her ball down. "Let me have my fun."

"Sportsy? I jog every day. That's about it," she said, in a comical disbelief.

"Mm, that's why you're so soft," she giggled, and swung at the ball, watching it hit the wall six times before bouncing off the edge of the plastic rock obstacle in the center - odd that they made it plastic.

"Great shot."

"Thanks. Hey, do you want to just give up and go do something else?"

Scootaloo scoffed. "No, I want to beat you down and collect my sixty million bits."

Sweetie spun her club. "Well, do. Then we can go get ice cream and scuba dive."

Scootaloo set her ball down, and stared at it, leaning forwards on her club. The glittering on her right hand distracted her for a moment, and brought those thoughts back full-force. "Um... I kind of want to talk shop."

Sweetie balanced on one of the little brick walls around the washed-out green course. "What do you mean?"

"I have some - some, uh, questions," she continued, and tapped the ball lightly, watching it bounce against the rock and roll towards the tunnel on the right.

Sweetie stopped balancing. "Oh." Her voice was low, saturated with understanding but laced with frustration. Maybe she'd talked enough. "Anything different, now that you've slept on it?"

"More, really," she replied, quietly.

Sweetie didn't reply for a moment, but instead stepped close and put a hand on her lower back, looking out at the course. "Since I'm sharing everything."

"Hm?"

She felt her inhale. "I planned the wedding for a week from today. Before you get angry -" she held up her hands as Scootaloo inhaled fast despite herself and folded her arms "- I cancelled it once I realized yesterday that we might not be ready yet."

Scootaloo tapped her fingers on her arm. "But yesterday all I did was talk about the marriage."

"That's a big part of why I reconsidered. I realized, when I saw you awake pretty late, that you were nervous. And I can understand," she added, quietly, pulling her close. "I'm nervous, too."

Scootaloo looked down. Spot-on again.

"We can do it back in Ponyville, quietly. Maybe in the Apples' basement?" she suggested, with a bit of a chuckle.

A thought came upon her, suddenly, like it was borne from the other, more active questions and concepts floating around in her head. "... I think we should be public."

Sweetie almost pulled away, but rather kept her hand in connection and turned to look at her. She noticed, but didn't look back. Too lost in thought. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said. I think, if we get married, it should be public."

Sweetie shook her head for a moment, less negatively and more like she was shaking loose thoughts from her own head. "We... could we do that?"

"I don't know. It would need some precautions."

"I know, and -" She stopped herself, grabbing her club and walking over to her ball. She looked at it, and turned away again, pacing. Familiar. "I don't want to." She was quiet, lost in thought, really talking just to herself. "Since I'm sharing everything," she added, stopping and balancing on the little brick ridge, her voice a barely-audible squeak. "I'm scared."

"Why?" She didn't mean to sound indignant, but caught it on the tail end of the question.

"Everything - it would change, all of it. We would have to, you know, write new rules and stuff and if we mess up even a little bit, we could - we could lose stability." She stepped off the bricks, and looked back down at the ball. A beat of silence fell on the scene.

"... When you were interviewed," she began, a lump in her throat. She didn't mean to say it, but she'd started. "When you were interviewed, I was... well, I was upset that you didn't mention me."

Sweetie looked up at her, her eyes wide in surprise, her mouth hanging open a little. "Wh - I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't - I thought you were against me being personal in the f-first place, I'm sorry," she stammered, walking over to her and going in for a hug.

Scootaloo didn't need it, per se. She'd already dealt with it, and decided it was a stupid feeling, but something wasn't sitting right in the pit of her stomach. Maybe - maybe she wanted to be normal. Maybe she wanted to say to the world, 'Ha, look at me, I can make this work forever'. "It's okay," she managed, hugging back lightly, less passionately.

"If you want us to officially publicize, I'll - I'll get it done, okay?"

"No, no, I'm not sure yet. I think we should, but..." She pulled away, unconsciously rubbing Sweetie's shoulder. "I think you would know better."

Her expression confused her. It was more blank than anything, but there was something bitter, something impressed, something terrified. Something for everything. "Scootaloo?"

"Yeah?"

"For now, um, if we do get married sometime this month -" she began, dropping her voice. "I really don't think we should come out yet."

Scootaloo's mouth went dry, for a moment or two. She couldn't figure out the reason. "I trust you," she said, feeling the words impact Sweetie syllable by syllable. There was a moment where she was aware of herself, standing there, on a closed mini-gold course, in the early afternoon, giving one of the few people she'd ever honestly loved exactly what she wanted. And she leaned forwards and kissed her, tenderly, absorbing all the warmth and love she could from it, brushing Sweetie's hair gently out of her face.

She pulled away after a couple seconds, feeling the words flow out without conceptualization. "Honestly? As long as it happens, it doesn't matter how."

Sweetie tried to suppress it, but beamed. "And I said you had no sense of romance. I'm gonna cry."

"No, don't," Scootaloo said, wiping at her eye clumsily and sensing all that pride slip away back to normal levels. "Don't do that."

"No, I'm going to. Your fault," she added, a couple tears escaping as she smiled even harder. "I'm on a rollercoaster today. I don't think I ever apologized for yelling at you."

"It's fine."

"I - I never actually said where we were, by the way," she interjected quickly. "I just..." she trailed off, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Just go hit your ball so we can get ice cream," she replied with a knowing little smile, pushing her away lightheartedly.

"Do you really think I can make it up?" Sweetie asked with a sarcastic optimism, dabbing at her cheeks again.

"If this hole is worth the game."

Sweetie took two more hits. Scootaloo took three.

* * *

It wasn't quite five when they were dried off and changed from scuba diving. As a lesson, it wasn't too intense, but it was an experience. Scootaloo hadn't been in the ocean, except for once, in her life. There was something about being in a mass of material in which time seemed to move slower that really was mystifying. She was so taken aback by everything - the colors, the motion, the shapes of the coral - that she couldn't even really talk about it. They walked off the dock silent.

Sweetie's phone buzzed, and played a jingle, interrupting the general quiet. "Oh, five. Check this out," she said, pulling a box from her other pocket. "Twenty-five bits. Imported."

"Jeez. What are they called?"

"I can't read it. They smell different, though. I'm gonna try one," she said, pulling out her lighter and popping the cigarette between her lips. "We should sit down."

"Right," Scootaloo said, and looked around. "Park bench. Doesn't say no-smoking area."

They sat, in almost the same position they had the day before, as she lit the end and began. The park wasn't as quiet as the street was earlier that day; there were a couple joggers and such nearby, and a businessman talking on his phone just down the way. "When does the party start?" Scootaloo asked.

"Seven. You'll hear it."

"Ooh. Cool," she said, tapping her foot. "Are you really okay, like, as a singer, with smoking everyday?"

"Well..." She blew out. "It means something. As you know. And I don't think I can stop now. But I never do have more than one a day." She stopped, to inhale again. "Also, my voice is insured for 200 million."

"Oh, big numbers," she said, with a surprised laugh. "You sure that's enough?"

"I dunno." She didn't say anything more for a moment, and looked out over the clean-cut grass and fostered flowers. "What's the most romantic thing we ever did?"

Scootaloo's mind went blank for a moment. "That's a question. All I can think of right now is scuba-ing."

"I'm being serious, though, I need to know. Planning something."

"What are you planning?" she asked, grinning and pulling her close.

"Heh. You'll figure it out." She paused, taking a short moment to shift a bit. "I'm gonna tell you anyways. During some point, I'm going to try to one-up the most romantic thing we've ever done, as, like, a challenge."

"... That's interesting, actually."

* * *

As far as Scootaloo saw it, the world was ending.

There was something dark, _wrong_ about the pair loading boxes into the back of a beat-up moving vehicle. Why now? How dare they? How dare _she_? But she kept her mouth shut and her teeth clenched. Those were empty thoughts.

It was a melancholy day already, with no clouds in the sky and a sort of blanketing overcast. Everyone knew Rarity was leaving Ponyville, and it was sad, and it was teary, and there were dozens of I'm-sorries for her father and for the fact that they had to be away for so long, but no one gave a speck of thought to her backseat. No one except Scootaloo and Applebloom. They stood by, watching the procession on the cool green grass lawn, their hands in their pockets or folded uselessly, wondering.

Eventually, after some of the chaos had subsided and most people had left the front of the Boutique, Sweetie walked over, looking down and away, but not at them. She was scared, too, and Scootaloo could only sinfully hope that she was feeling just as empty as she was.

"Hey," Applebloom began, kicking up some grass.

"Hi," Sweetie replied lowly. Scootaloo knew they hadn't seen each other since that afternoon two days ago, and wasn't quite surprised at the awkward result. "I... I kind of want to take a walk through the East Fields. By the glen."

"Let's go, then," Scootaloo said, and Sweetie finally glanced over at her. A cold anger washed over her, _why can't you just stay here forever_ , but it subsided and she allowed herself a small smile. She couldn't help herself.

They arrived at the light birch forest soon after, and hearing the quiet babbling of the stream running through the glen nearby calmed them, to some extent. Loosened them up. In fact, Scootaloo could claim that they'd even laughed a few times. But a while in, the laughter died away.

She looked over at Applebloom on her left, still smirking in a sort of melancholic way, and Sweetie, on her right, who she caught staring back at her. She scowled at the blush that she felt developing, and gave a little sigh.

"Hey, Applebloom," Sweetie said finally, breaking the mild silence that had taken hold.

"Yeah."

She heard a similar little sigh. "I don't want you to feel like - like you're the third wheel, alright?" No response. "Tell me if you do. But, um, right now, Scoots and I have to talk about stuff."

Applebloom looked over. Scootaloo half-expected her to be crying or something. It would have felt right. But no, still a sort of sad smile. "Ah'll meet you back at the Boutique before you leave, okay?"

They stopped as Sweetie leaned in for a hug, deep, rocking. She heard a sob, but it was from Sweetie, not Applebloom. An "I'll miss you", too, however out-of-place it was. They eventually parted, and Applebloom waved a bit before backtracking into the forest.

The air seemed heavier now that it was just the two of them. They were standing too far apart, like it was the mood for a battle more than a conversation. So Scootaloo walked up a bit closer, and motioned silently to continue down the side of the stream.

"... What are we?" Sweetie began as they walked.

For a moment, the question hung dead in midair, the only sound being their quiet footsteps on the soil. "I know - I know what I think about you," she replied, in a murmur, looking over, her hands uncomfortably at her sides. Sweetie was flushed, a cherry red against her pale skin. "I... I'd like to know what you think about me."

An archaic little spring house capped the horizon as they scaled a small hill. She felt a warm hand on her own, applying a light pressure, and looked down. Yesterday, they'd met, and walked rather in the same fashion along the lake across town, but they didn't talk much. That was the first time anyone had held her hand like that, and this was the second. They were close, shoulder-to-shoulder now. And Scootaloo stayed silent, feeling the seconds tick by as she waited for a response.

"Well," Sweetie said, breaking the silence, "I think I'm probably in love with you."

Scootaloo's footsteps slowed, and stopped. She turned, locking unintentionally onto Sweetie Belle's eyes - what was usually a bright, lively green was dulled to a soft ichorous gleam of the same color.

"I know, it -"

Scootaloo cut her off, forceful and almost thoughtless. Words shouldn't have that much of an effect. She felt a hand on her neck, bringing her a bit closer, drawing her into the kiss. It was still new, even two days old. It wasn't fair, how simply, nondescript _good_ it was. It wasn't fair at all.

She felt herself gravitate away, noticing the words jumping out of her mouth. "I didn't mean - I - you - couldn't -" she stammered in a stream of consciousness, their foreheads still together, their faces close.

Sweetie didn't respond, but pulled away a bit and led her over to the barn, sitting down on a pile of what seemed like relatively fresh hay and guiding Scootaloo down, too. Then she resumed, and Scootaloo got lost again.

It'd been a good few seconds before she separated again, her arms now draped across Scootaloo's back, almost gracefully, while she was simply sitting and holding her midsection lightly. She moved her arms a bit upwards, for more of an embrace, and moved them back down, a sudden onset of nerve hitting her.

Sweetie intervened with a giggle, wrapping Scootaloo's arms around her. "... Hey," she began, quietly.

"Yeah?" she replied, not paying too much attention.

Sweetie got a bit closer, kissing her lightly. "So - um, today's it. I leave in about an hour."

Scootaloo said nothing, but returned the kiss, still in the clouds with her thoughts.

"So I was thinking."

"Hm."

"Do you, um," she began, in a near-whisper, and seemed to give up with her sentence. Suddenly, Scootaloo's brain malfunctioned as she felt soft hands slowly fall on her sides - under her shirt. She didn't say anything for a moment, but leaned back a little and looked at Sweetie, whose mouth was open and her eyes were fixated on her stomach. "... Do you mind?" she finished, glancing up.

Scootaloo almost laughed, but was completely in a daze. "Uh... n-no," she replied, raising her hands above her head as the shirt slid off her. And now, there she was, lying under Sweetie Belle, on hay stickles, in her sports bra, with a furious blush.

Sweetie was apparently feeling the exact same, as she'd never seen her look quite as flustered. "I - I've never -"

"Me neither," Scootaloo agreed. She looked away, down the path. "Are you sure, um..."

"Does it matter?"

"I dunno. I guess not," she replied quietly, and looked back, suddenly feeling the familiar push for another kiss.

Sweetie exhaled slowly as their lips parted, but she refused to move any further back. Scootaloo's mind was working, but dully, like a skipping record. _Do it. Do it. Do it._ With a moment's hesitation, she reached up and fumbled with the buttons on Sweetie's blouse. She felt her fidget for a moment, and paused, confused, before she heard a whispered 'sorry, you can...' and continued.

They were quick and slow, hot and cold. Kiss and stop. Scootaloo was absent, in a world without design. "Are we going to, uh," she murmured as they pulled apart again.

Sweetie's blush grew to cover her nose. "I - it seems like it," she replied quietly, looking down, and back up. "Do I just..."

"I guess, um," Scootaloo replied, her eyes not moving from Sweetie's no matter how much she wanted them to. "I guess just do whatever?"

They did whatever.

* * *

"... Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, you know. It was new."

"Not when I proposed?"

Scootaloo made a face. "Well, like, uh, we were on a plane, and it was sort of just a weird... I mean, it was romantic and all, but it wasn't the most, um..."

Sweetie folded her arms melodramatically. "So you like it when I'm terrified."

"Uh, yeah," she teased, poking her in the ribs and laughing as she shied away and giggled. "It was kind of hot, honestly."

"That is odd."

"Whatever," she replied, smiling, remembering. The shadow of the barn, the sound of the brook, the unrivaled joy of the moment. "You almost done?"

"Almost, then we should grab dinner and head over to the party beach."

Scootaloo brought her head a bit closer. "We're not doing a five-star restaurant again?"

"No, no, no, no. We're grease-trapping tonight."

Scootaloo sighed, content, and nuzzled gently against her neck. "I think that afternoon was the first time you told me you loved me."

"I probably did more than once, considering."

Scootaloo chuckled. "That you did."

* * *

"Let's eat as we walk. Great idea."

Sweetie playfully punched her shoulder. "Stop. It's fine."

Scootaloo grinned, and balled up the wrapper, jogging over to a trash can nearby and tossing it in. The beach was a long stretch of bright white that navigated the entire east coast, almost four dozen yards thick at the thickest part. It'd gotten to be about 6:30, but she could just make out in the distance a sort of short wall that looked to be moving, bookended by a massive box that seemed to be hanging into the ocean. The party, she presumed.

She turned back to Sweetie, who'd stopped, and was staring at the crowd in the distance. "Oh, whoops."

Scootaloo fixed her hoodie. "What's up?"

"I didn't tell you, did I?"

She turned to look at her, and Scootaloo stared right back, a smile aggressively forcing the ends of her mouth up. She finally let loose and laughed. "Not again," she managed, and continued laughing.

"Okay, don't get mad."

"I don't even care by this point. What did you do."

"But really, don't get mad," she said again, clasping her hands together in front of her almost coyly.

Scootaloo stopped laughing and shook her head. "Fine, I won't get mad."

"Alright. So, uh, I'm going to be performing a bit."

Scootaloo's smile fell away, but not to anger or frustration, to a disbelieving open mouth and squint.

With a quick nod, Sweetie sympathized. "I know, I should've remembered to tell you, but I didn't, and now we're here."

"... What?" She felt herself spit the 't'.

Sweetie sighed, looking back to the crowd. "The band's going to preface me and I'm going to play for two hours. We already have a lineup."

Scootaloo glanced the direction she was looking, where the moving wall of people seemed to have grown. "Did you advertise this?"

"That's part of it. I didn't advertise Goddess was going to play, but I advertised a huge party on the beach. We'll be going pretty well into the night."

Scootaloo took a turn to sigh, and smiled wryly, closing her eyes and putting a hand on her forehead. "Agh. I though we were going to dance."

"We are! We are, definitely. Before I go on."

"But - what about the paparazzi?" She turned quickly, and ran a hand through her hair, trying to somehow release the building frustration through her movement. "This was supposed to be our vacation. They're going to be everywhere. I'm - I'm not mad," she added, putting a hand back on her face.

"That was actually going to be a surprise. We..." She trailed off, walking up to her tentatively. "We're going somewhere else tonight. I already -"

"What do you mean we're going somewhere e- Sweetie, what did you plan? Enough with the secrets, seriously, I want to know everything right now," she interjected, a mixture between incredulous and upset.

"I'm sorry. I thought it would be fun," Sweetie replied softly, looking away. "I have some people packing our stuff and there's already a helicopter on the roof of the hotel. We'll be, um, we'll be taking off tonight for the Cape of Six Suns."

Scootaloo was speechless. Thoughts were ricocheting in her head, and her base emotion was still firmly set negative. But... it did sound amazing. They were still young. They had so much they could do. Why not have this be one of them?

But then the nagging caution returned. _They could track you. No more security. People might be angry. People might invade on you, forever._

"... Scoots?"

Scootaloo returned to the land of the living, and her vision caught up with her. Fiancée, standing alone, her hands behind her back like she was a chastised child. What was more important?

"It..." She swallowed. "It does sound like fun." The smile she forced next stopped being forced quickly. She felt lighter.

Sweetie beamed, and it only strengthened her own smile. "I'm glad. Really. Just - again, I'm sorry."

"You know what? We'll figure it out eventually," she replied, before being taken up in a sudden embrace.

"Thanks for not being too angry with me." She'd never heard her sound quite as grateful; her voice was heavy with relief and joy.

"Can't stay mad at you," she replied into her shoulder, hugging her tighter. "Mm, I love you."

"... Your hair smells good."

"Uh, I love you?"

"Oh, love you too," she replied, with a giggle. It was infectious. It took a few seconds, but they stopped, and Sweetie pulled away to look at her, rather deeply, her smile fading (though it felt natural). "What do you want?"

Scootaloo blinked. "I'm confused."

"I can tell you don't like surprises, at least -"

"Surprises are fine, but not we're-leaving-the-country-tonight surprises," Scootaloo replied, sensing that accidental indignance again.

"That's what I was about to say, at least not extreme ones. I thought they were - were romantic. But if not surprises, what... do you want?"

Her mind went blank. "Uh..." She paused, trying and failing to access her mind. "Jeez. I guess I just, uh..."

"Maybe," she began, quietly, "a normal life?"

Scootaloo stopped. That felt - rather correct. "I don't know," she replied finally. "I just want to be with you, you know, for as long as I can."

Sweetie didn't look away, but stared still into her eyes, shifting back and forth between one and the other. "Even at the expense of safety?"

She pursed her lips. Familiar. "What are we getting at?"

"I want to make a decision on what to do. I don't think we can be together as much as we'd like and stay 'safe' and out of the public eye." She chose her words slowly, deliberately. "I think, that if we get married in the next month, we may need to be public."

Scootaloo drew her into a hug again, slowly, thoughtfully, as she noticed other people walking past, chatting with each other. It brought her back to reality, tangentially. "What made you change your mind?"

"This is a hard game, and I suppose I just gave up." She paused, her breath leading into silence. Scootaloo realized she was hanging on her words, as the ambient noises around them seemed to drown out. "Over today, I think I convinced myself that - I mean, I love being famous, and it was a great idea to stay safe, but - but - I can't spend most of every year away from you anymore. It's too long."

She paused, and Scootaloo moved her head a bit further into her neck. "That's why you proposed."

She felt the nod, and heard the near-whispered response. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to forget about everything while we're on the vacation - no more surprises, no more drama - and when we get back, we're picking up Applebloom and we're touring until we _die_."

Scootaloo's smile started small, and grew wide. "Don't try to make me emotional."

"Is it working?"

She hugged her tighter. "Oh, Celestia, yes, it is."

"Can we sex on the beach?"

"Aren't we leaving tonight?"

"We can leave after. I paid the pilot good money. He can wait."

"Fine. Make a note."

They laughed and raced each other to the growing mass of people in the dimming daylight.

* * *

The crowd was insane. They'd say later in the papers that more than two thousand people showed up. Two thousand, in a little square in front of a huge bandstand. And for a while, Sweetie was pressed up tightly against Scootaloo, and they were dancing as the sun set over the sea to a rainbow of colour.

The band - she'd forgotten the name - was made up of Sweetie's friends from the high school they'd graduated from, the only friends she really had there. She said she trusted them, and again, Scootaloo allowed her, and while they were talking for the few minutes they had, actually got pretty close to one of them whose name was Atom Split. He was the drummer, like she was once, and they really hit it off; they were both huge on computers and technology, he was witty and funny. A good guy, all-around. And yet, while she was in the crowd, jumping aimlessly to the band with Sweetie, she'd totally forgotten about him.

She rather wondered how no one could tell she was dancing with Goddess, especially considering she saw a few Goddess t-shirts and Sweetie had only colored her hair and eyes. Eventually, during a very momentary lull in the music, she turned to joke about it, and Sweetie was gone.

Then, suddenly, as though on cue, the sound died away, and the lights went out. A couple people screamed over the leftover cheers from the overall crowd, and Scootaloo turned to see, realizing what was coming next with a huge, reckless grin. It was more exciting than anything to hear the crowd's reaction.

Under her breath: " _Three, two, one._ "

The spotlight struck midstage, and the opal-white suit glared against the dark surroundings as the first guitarist strummed an angry chord. The sound picked up slowly, a cheer that graduated to a freakishly animalistic scream. Sweetie was facing the ocean, a fragile but ephemeral form, holding her microphone showily.

One beat, and she'd turned back around, the green of her eyes shining spectacularly as she hit her first note and the music swelled.

Scootaloo was lost. Once again. She couldn't hear any of the words well, over the crowd that was now massing at the base of the stage, but heard the bone-shivering melody from Sweetie and froze where she stood.

Then, Sweetie's piercing eyes found her in the crowd, and she realized how dumbfounded she must have looked, and she realized that this was the first time she'd seen Goddess live, and she realized that Sweetie was giving her a small, covert smile. She covered part of her face with her hands and smiled back, her gaze falling to her feet in some abnormal shyness.

It wasn't two hours, no way. More like ten minutes. The clock would prove her wrong, but it felt like ten minutes. And halfway through, time stopped for a little while, but it still felt like ten minutes.

Time stopped when she heard that familiar bass riff, played better than she'd ever heard it. Dun dun-dun-dun dun-dun-dun dun. She felt a tingle rush through her as the low note drifted through the crowd. Was it really? Would she really?

Yes, she would. " _Cloudy though the sky is_ ," and her voice was more passionate than ever, caressing the low ranges of her voice. It was velveteen, but clear and dripping with an authenticity Scootaloo hadn't heard before. She found herself mouthing the words. " _It's clearer here below; and send us all through hell and high water like you did all those years ago._ " The smoke rose around her form, twisting magically into an arc as dark purple lights pounded to the beat behind her. Purple. She was clever.

She wasn't in exactly a premiere spot, but she was close enough to see Sweetie's face, and her eyes, and a guitar tailed by its cord soar through the air and land almost delicately in her hands. As the intermediate bridge's riff started, she heard a soft, echoey, mysterious, familiar voice. "This one's for you."

And with that, it was back to ten minutes.

At the end of those ten minutes, the volume built until it soared, hurting her ears (like she cared). And then, Scootaloo could've expected it, Goddess was gone in a flash of light and smoke, and the crowd was silent for a short, short second before exploding into cheers again.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her wrist and the cool, staticky wash of magic over her. It was all in a second. She was run through the crowd around her, through the jumping, sweaty throng of people - quite literally _through_ them - and off onto the distant white beach, accompanied by a laughter growing louder as the noise from the stage subsided.

The huge black rocks grew in size as they continued, the run becoming a quick jog. When they were far enough away, a form began to appear slowly, like a ghost fading into existence. She dug her heels into the sand and took the immediate opportunity, swinging her around and kissing her forcefully. Maybe a bit too forcefully; she fell forwards, on top of her, and burst into laughter, her ears still ringing and her mind still overloaded with some type of sluggish, molasses-y Victorian romance.

"That wasn't a party, that was a concert!" she managed, a bit loudly, and fell back on her, pinning her and kissing her more passionately than she had in a long time. And under her breath, "That was a concert for me."

"Did you li-"

"Yes, yes, I can't - describe - yes," she stammered, breathing heavily, kissing her again, trying hard to stop and open her eyes.

"I'm - I'm really sweating, I'm sorry -"

"It's fine, just -"

"Celestia, we're totally in public," she somehow put together a sentence as Scootaloo moved down to her neck.

"I don't care. I can't handle it," she said, her voice feeling raw and rough. "I can't believe you would - would do that f-for me."

"And you said you - hey - weren't a muse."

"Well," she said, finally pulling away for a moment and glancing up. "You..." And the words were gone. In the moonlight, there was no pretense to how beautiful she was. "Your eyes," she murmured. Her hair was back to its purple and pink, her eyes were refractive, electric, and their natural bright emerald green.

"Is there something wrong?" Sweetie asked quietly, her smile freezing.

"No, no," Scootaloo said quickly, kissing her tenderly again, running a hand gently through her hair. She wanted to reply, but language escaped her. Instead, she attacked the bright white suit, button by button.

"So we _are_ going to sex on the beach."

"You don't even know," Scootaloo replied, kissing her again, not even bothering to try to keep her mouth closed.

"S-sand's gonna get - get everywhere."

"Mm-hm."

"I forgot the sparklers."

"Mm-hm."

"And the Martin's."

"Sweetie." She paused, and looked up again. "Let me work."

That night, they slept like logs even with the noise from the helicopter.

* * *

In fifth grade, they'd learned about the Cape of Six Suns. On the peninsula jutting out from the bottom of Equestria, to the left of the Steeplechase Gulf, there was an inlet formed when a plate shifted over another a couple thousand years ago, and a mountain jutted out in front of that inlet. Some kind of gas rose from the bottom of the sea, splitting light just above the horizon into six parts wherever you stood along the beach. So at sunrise, and at sunset, one could assume what magic happened.

It wasn't quite either by the time they'd made their way out of the new hotel (which was perhaps even grander this time around), but the view was still pretty spectacular, with gold and crimsons and greens bleeding from the sea to the sky and vice-versa on the horizon. Scootaloo was standing in front of the clean glass double-doors, waiting for Sweetie to finish talking to the manager inside.

Sweetie had told her all the plans: they were here for the rest of the month, and they were going to tour and boat and experience everything they could. The date for the wedding was still to-be-determined, but Sweetie had bounced the end of the month off of her, and - well, in all honesty, Scootaloo didn't think it was a bad idea.

She shook the thoughts out of her head as well as she could, and took a landscape with her phone, staring at it as the they returned. It couldn't be too hard to organize, and if they did it right - rather, if they did it at Sweet Apple Acres - there wouldn't be media there at all, and all of Ponyville could attend. In fact...

She glanced over her shoulder to the door behind her, and looked down at her phone, sending the picture to one of her quickdial contacts with a few touches. As expected, she hadn't even raised her head yet before it buzzed in her hands.

"Sup?"

" _Whatever happened to hello, kid?_ "

Scootaloo smiled. "Did you get it?"

" _Yeah, I got it. Where you guys at?_ "

"Down south, along the Gulf. We were on an island, but we're kinda hopping around, I guess."

There was a chuckle. " _When are you both going to be back? I haven't seen Sweetie in a while._ "

"End of the month. And I kind of wanted to talk to you about that," she said, before feeling a tap on her shoulder. "Oh, uh, hold a second." She turned, into a quick little kiss, and held the phone to her chest. "Do you have all the, uh, placements planned for the wedding?"

"Not yours. We were going to talk about that later."

She nodded, and breathed in, taking the phone off her chest and pressing speakerphone. 'It's Rainbow Dash,' she mouthed. "You're on speaker."

" _Oh. Hey, Sweetie! How's it going?_ "

Sweetie smiled. "It's fine. Not a bad time out here."

"We have something we want to tell you," Scootaloo began, feeling the smile in her voice before she felt it on her face.

" _... No way._ "

"Yup," Scootaloo replied. "And I-"

" _No way! Are you guys serious? Wow! Sweetie, you better treat her right. I'm assuming I can come. It's not over there, is it?_ "

Scootaloo laughed. "No, we'll send you details. Anyways, I would be honored if - if you were my best man. Lady. Female best man."

There was a second of silence, and Scootaloo looked over at Sweetie, biting her lip and smiling. "You alright?"

" _N-no. I mean yeah. I'm fine,_ " she said, the microphone crackling over a sniffle. " _I wanna hug you, but you're so far away._ "

Scootaloo's smile grew exponentially, and she felt her eyes begin to water. Just a little. Nothing important. "I know what you mean," she responded.

" _And I'm still single._ "

Scootaloo laughed, more in just general joy. "We'll be back at the end of the month," she repeated, and grabbed Sweetie's hand tightly. "I think we're probably doing pretty soon after that. Sweetie has the dresses and stuff on lockdown."

" _Are you going to do a dress or a suit?_ "

Scootaloo looked unsurely over at Sweetie, who looked back and nodded. "We're not sure yet," Sweetie said, "but I know what fits her."

" _Can I tell everyone?_ "

"Y-" Sweetie began.

"Except Applebloom. I want to surprise her face-to-face."

" _So do I just tell AJ to not tell Applebloom?_ "

"I guess, yeah."

Sweetie giggled. "We gotta go, but we'll see you later, Dash. We'll rehearse the ceremony, by the way, so get ready."

" _Pft. Alright. Do I do anything?_ "

"Well..."

" _Ah, whatever. I gotta go, too._ "

"Alright, bye," Scootaloo said, bringing her arm up to Sweetie's waist.

" _I'm really proud of you, kid. See you._ "

Scootaloo tapped at the phone and slid it into her pocket, staring back up at the horizon for a moment and just standing, shoulder-to-shoulder with Sweetie, and grinning probably ear-to-ear.

"... I packed a swimsuit for you."

"I already have one, though."

"I know, but yours is a one-piece." Scootaloo cast an underbrow look in her direction, and she shrunk a bit. "Is that a bad surprise?"

"Are you going to make me wear a two-piece?"

"Well, yeah." She giggled at Scootaloo's reaction. "Show off a bit. I don't think you like you."

"I like me. And one-piece bathing suits."

"And I like you with less on. Let's just go try it, at least."

She folded her arms. "I don't wanna."

"Just do it."

She frowned at her, and it became a smile quickly. "Whatever."

And they did whatever. They did whatever for weeks, in a perfect little paradise of their own design, sunbathing and making a couple friends and exploring sprawling low cities they'd never been and partying like they would die tomorrow because, well, whatever. Whenever Scootaloo saw her, lying nearby, dappled by sunlight and smiling just a little, she had to kiss her. It was just them, together, content.

And marriage was looking more attractive by the moment.


	3. To Kill A Goddess, III - A Final Return

_no_

The word popped up onscreen in a moment. It felt like it was frosting her over, slowing her blood down and icing her heart. It was true, undoubtedly, but it still hurt to say.

 _if not then, then when will you be back_

She stared at it, just for a moment, and pressed the phone to her chest, locking it as she did. She didn't want to see it anymore. No more guilt, no more frustration. No more her.

It had been two years, and two years too much. The small standalone that was once new had grown old before her eyes, and in the eight months that she'd been out of school she hadn't done anything but play orchestras and sit in her room and write.

A sudden awareness of her position made her pick up the phone again, just because it felt impossible not to.

 _if the album does well_ , she typed out, the keystrokes a dim source of white noise in the dark, messy, pink little room.

 _it'll definitely do well_

 _will you come back then_

 _yes_ , she typed, no hesitation. Yes, she would go back, immediately, and run to her and touch her for the first time in years. Messages hadn't been enough. Her love letters and songwriting hadn't been enough. She was obsessed.

 _im glad you didnt forget about me_

Each sentence made her chest tighter.

 _i love you_

She always said that, usually when she was about to sign off. And more than it had before, it hit hard. Alone, in her bedroom, emotional. Silly. _i love you too_ , she sent back quickly. _i really want to come back. i'll leave as soon as possible_

In five days, Goddess was considered a cultural icon.

* * *

The plane was familiar, even moreso now that it was part of a memory she would have forever, but for the moment her eyes were glued to her phone. "Wow," she murmured, her voice filtered and staticky over the headset's mic system.

She heard Scootaloo's reply in the same fashion: "What's up?"

"I've never cleared out the messages from my phone. I have some on here from five, six years ago." She stared at them for a second, scrolling through what seemed like thousands.

"How big is your phone?"

"It just warned me it was getting full, so I'm assuming pretty big. I should delete them, I guess."

Scootaloo leaned over. "Maybe we should go to the movies tonight. Ha ha, okay. I'll ask Applebloom," she read. "Huh, these _are_ from before."

"I don't even remember ninety-eight percent of these," she commented, and turned off the screen again, levitating it back into her bag. "It seems like hundreds of years ago."

"Yeah," Scootaloo replied, the single syllable buzzing as they hit a patch of turbulence. She switched to the main channel. "Hey, what's our ETA?"

"Should be about eleven."

"At night? I'm gonna sleep, if you don't care," she added, turning back to Sweetie.

"If you want. I'll be listening to music, just tap me on the shoulder if you need me."

Scootaloo switched back to the private channel. "We need to put a plan on paper when we get to the Acres." Sweetie felt a gentle hand on her own, rubbing it softly. Scootaloo was staring down at it, her expression blank. "I don't want to get into too much of a mess. It should be perfect, you know?"

Sweetie smiled, and squeezed her hand, just a little. "I promise. I'll make it as perfect as I can. On one condition."

"Hm?"

"I get to have a couple surprises for you."

Scootaloo grinned.

* * *

It was good to be back home. Ponyville, the backwoods town that her sister had made a personal haven, was a thread out of time's tapestry - always unchanging, for the better. It followed the seasons as they came, and embraced each one with a quaint vigor. And it saddened her, how good it was to be back home. If it wasn't night, it was difficult to walk around - all kinds of tactics went into keeping herself safe, but they never provided her any real freedom.

Scootaloo had fallen asleep almost immediately after she'd said she would, and she was light enough for Sweetie to wrap her up in a warm blanket of invisibility and carry her back home. But she woke up before Sweetie even got a chance, and with a drowsy, weak little goodbye kiss, flew herself over to the Acres. So Sweetie was alone.

She walked the streets, like a ghost, the late-night stragglers entirely unaware of her. How many would care if the spell failed then and there? How many knew who was under Goddess' porcelain mask? Each person she passed was either clearly scouting for her, considering it was just the time for her to return, or was someone she recognized. Hayseed, and his bar-hopper buddies, for example. She wondered whether he knew, and why he hadn't leapt at the chance of fame with that precious knowledge.

The town ended quickly, and gave way to a moderate suburb. Right there, just down the yellow-lit street, the Boutique stood in a familiar glory, surrounded by the evergreen shrubs and bushes that had somehow survived through the years. It had been purchased, and made into a family home, entirely redesigned for the parents and their three foster children. Different. Meeting that family those couple years ago was what sealed the fact that they weren't coming back.

A thought went off inside her head, and she glanced behind her as though someone could hear it. Maybe - perhaps she could have a look around. If no one noticed. And it wasn't like she could get in any real trouble, anyways, being who she was. Right? Yeah. That's a safe idea.

She made her way soundlessly down the street, each footstep unnaturally muffled. It made her feel as though she was flying, a clear bird of prey darting without resistance through the heavy night air. A breeze picked up as she approached the door while her plan fleshed out slowly in her mind. The idea finally settled on her, crawling suddenly across her back like the breeze.

But it was okay, she reassured herself as she touched the worn white paint lightly. Yes, it was illegal, but there were ways of getting around that. And all she wanted was to see the inside of her home again. It was okay. Her breathing slowed regardless of her logic as she placed her palm over the keyhole.

She stopped, pulling her hand away a bit. Maybe they had a magic defence system. No, that was stupid, it was expensive. And complicated. She concentrated on her hand again, feeling the pressure of magic along its length. One short burst, a control of movement against the tumblers, and that should do it.

A fizzle of magic lit up the air and a metal clang echoed around her. She whipped her head back, hoping that no one had heard, and no one was there at all. Just an empty street.

"This is a terrible plan," she muttered, and looked back at the door, ready to quietly step inside, and ready to dart back out at the first sign of life. But she was never very good with magic - the handle didn't turn at all. _Come on._ One more go. No. One more? The green flashes sped up for a moment, five or six consecutive, before they died altogether.

She stepped back, feeling the beginning of a bitter sigh as she stared up at the building. Memories flooded her mind's eye - the Boutique's familiar structure reminded her of the little hiding spots she could use when she was playing around with Applebloom and Scootaloo. Only she knew those places. It was the better half of her childhood, her sister's boutique, and this was probably the last month or so that she would see it for a very long while.

She touched the wood pillar again, more firmly. In a way, it was exciting. If everything went according to plan, and the wedding fell into place, she would be gone, doing what she loved with who she loved, maybe forever. It was her new life, and the Boutique was her old one.

A drift of wind brought her mind back to the street. The street held its fair share of memories as well, each closer to her than the last. She threw another look at the old building, smiled, and went on her way. Scootaloo wouldn't mind if she took a few minutes to reminisce.

* * *

Her mind was hazy. She was never very good with magic. If the spell was cast incorrectly, it could cancel itself at any time, leaving her stranded, visible, in the middle of the street. Her heart was beating out a furious percussive symphony as she practically sprinted through the town, her feet hitting the cobblestone silently.

Finally, she began approaching the light wooded area near the Boutique. They always said they would start renovating there, but of course they never did. Over her heavy breaths, she grinned. But it was no time to stare at the old memories. There was only one thing on her mind.

It propelled her, the image. Outside of the pictures they were able to send back and forth, the last she saw of Scootaloo was young, hastily-dressed, trying hard not to cry as she waved with both arms. Celestia, how could she forget. The bright, shining violet eyes as they kissed for the last time in what would turn out to be almost three years. Three whole, dragging years.

 _Where is she_ , the sentence rang in her mind as she crossed the curb onto the hilly forest ground. _She said she'd meet me here, where is she. Is that her in the distance? No._

After a moment, she slowed, her exhaust catching up to her. She put her hands on her knees and sighed, her breath trying to regulate itself. "It's chilly," she whispered, leaning back up and looking around the dark woods. The streetlights had only come so far into the area, and now they did nothing but cast fair shadows and give contrast to discern them with.

Suddenly, there was movement. Just nearby, to the right and a couple yards forward. Her heartbeat fell from ten to two. There she was, her hood down, searching hastily back and forth at a brisk walk. Something about the situation fit her perfectly. A movement, alone in the forest at night, illuminated by bright yellow lights far away, like she was separate from the earth.

For a moment, Sweetie could say nothing. Her mouth wouldn't form words. She felt herself taking subconscious steps forwards, and didn't override the autopilot. The trickle of magic fell away, and she clasped her hands together and against her chest firmly in a sort of self-defence mechanism she didn't know she had.

It was almost slow motion when Scootaloo turned her head towards her. Her eyes opened wide, her lips parted slightly. She was closer than Sweetie had thought. Tantalizingly close. In a hushed voice, unlike anything she'd heard before: "S - Sweetie?"

The action was momentary. In a split second, she'd run forwards and absolutely tackled her, almost unaware of what she was doing. They fell backwards, in an embrace so tight one might think they were trying to merge together. If her mind was hazy before, it was in the clouds now. She tried to say something into her shoulder, but all that found its way out was a muffled sob. Her face felt like it was going to split in two.

Scootaloo pulled away, for a second, just to look at her, and kissed her without any pretence. Sweetie was at her mercy; she couldn't even figure out a way to move her lips. She just took it in, second by second, sound by sound. To stroke her hand along her head, through her hair; to feel firm, gentle arms wrapped around her back warm as fleece; to be lost in the soft passion of a kiss; it was incomparable.

It felt like forever before she finally pulled away, and that was a good thing. Their lips were still touching by molecules. "... Moonlight tryst," Sweetie managed suddenly.

Scootaloo grinned, and Sweetie could feel it. She moved her legs up and around, a lazy massage against Sweetie's. "What's that supposed to mean."

"It's a cliched phrase. Moonlight tryst." She kissed her again, tender, bringing a hand up to her cheek. "Nighttime meeting between lovers."

Scootaloo hugged her a bit tighter, beginning to laugh, but only for a second. She cut herself off as she rolled over, pinning Sweetie down and returning to a kiss, exponential in passion. Sweetie sighed, just barely suppressing her volume, and stared upwards at Scootaloo, her breath quickening again. "... I'm so sorry." The words spilled out before she had a chance to structure her sentence.

Scootaloo's eyes softened, the passion turning to compassion. She took her hand off of Sweetie's arm and brushed her hair to the side of her head. "Sweetie, it's okay. You're here now, alright?"

Sweetie nodded, her face tightening as she felt tears. They were worthless tears, and they didn't need to exist at all. But her brain began travelling places she never wanted it to, scanning in detail over all the years she missed because of her newfound business. To hell with the business. "I'm sorry," she said again, her voice breaking as she wiped at her eyes.

"You shouldn't be sorry. I should be sorry," Scootaloo replied, her whisper sharp but caring. "I could have followed you out there, you know that. I don't have anything here, Sweetie."

"Yes, you -"

"You had your mother out there, and your sister, and your new thing. If it was a choice between here and there, and I'd thought harder, and I'd tried more, I..." she trailed off, stiffening. "You're here now, alright," she repeated as her fingers made their way slowly around the base of her neck. "You're here now."

"Yeah," she agreed, suddenly out of words. She finally looked back up at Scootaloo. Even in the darkness, her eyes were velveteen, magical, wide and staring back at her. The sudden recognition of the weight across her, pillowy against her, each breath gently pressing against her chest - it made her suddenly and extremely uncomfortable. "... I want you. Here."

Scootaloo's shortness of breath alone sent an unexplainable flutter through Sweetie's chest. Her eyes were immobile, and her warm hand on the back of Sweetie's neck brought with it a memory that caused another flutter. "Don't you think we should go to my ap-"

"Scootaloo - right here." She moved her hands down her sides little by little, only tangentially aware of it. "Now."

Scootaloo swallowed, steadying her breathing. And then breaking out into a wide, lopsided smile, of course. "O-okay."

* * *

It was strange. She could almost convince herself that the grass was still warm beneath that tree, the one that would always be ingrained in her memory. Her hand returned to her pocket, and she stepped back, looking up at it like she had with the Boutique. It, too, made her feel small again.

If anything, that was the most romantic evening they'd ever had. Scootaloo said things then she'd never heard before and doubted she would again - it was the most emotional she'd gotten since they'd known each other. And some of those phrases still rang clearly in her head.

With that, she took her leave, and began her long walk towards the acres.

It took her more time than it usually did, even forgiving her detours. She just wanted to stroll. Whenever she voluntarily let her mind wander, it was hard to force it not to cloud itself with regrets. It was always the same thought, too: _So many years wasted, so many that could have been beautiful._

And yet, as she crossed the long dirt path arcing from one side of Ponyville to the other, and gazed across the open field to her left to watch the white clouds in the star-punctured navy blue night stroke the shadowed wheat as it touched the horizon, she wondered. If it weren't for those years, would they be as strong together? Midnight in the grass wouldn't have happened, ever. She wouldn't have those memories. And the thought, as the night began to ice over, gave her a hope for the future like fire - warm, bright, inviting.

Her pace quickened.

It only took a couple minutes from there to the Acres, and right away she threw off her spell. There was Scootaloo, and Dash, together on the deck, drinks steaming in hands. She waved, and they stood, Dash then Scootaloo, as she broke into a happy little sprint, skipping up onto the echoey wooden floor.

"Hey, Sweetie," Scootaloo began, reaching out for her hand and receiving a deep hug in return. It was short, but she needed it. "Oh. Hurting, a bit, actually," Scootaloo forced, and pulled away slightly. "You alright?"

"Just..." She looked over at Dash. "Perhaps later."

Dash stood shorter than Scootaloo, and about the size of Sweetie. Tough, sinewed, sleeveless, yet well-dressed. She hadn't changed. "How's it been, Rainbow?"

Dash broke into a grin. She had dimples when she smiled, and her smile was always full and genuine. "... Come here," she said after a moment, and pulled both of them into a close embrace, Sweetie on the right pressed painfully tight against Scootaloo on the left. "I'm so glad," she began, and never finished what seemed like a longer sentence, but laughed and let them go.

"You're gonna choke me," Sweetie gasped melodramatically, and laughed with her. Scootaloo joined in in a moment. "I have the dresses and the theme all picked out. I'm having them delivered in a few days," she continued, and Dash looked away, her grin not fading. It wasn't untrue, but she had to pick her words carefully in front of Scootaloo. "I'll get yours to you right away."

She put a hand around both of their shoulders again. Sweetie hasn't seen her so excited in a while, if ever. "I can't wait, guys," she said, uncharacteristically quiet. "I'm, like, I'm really happy for you, seriously."

"She was gushing since I got here," Scootaloo said with a laugh.

"Yeah, well," Dash murmured. "I didn't tell Applebloom, like you asked. I didn't even tell Applejack, just in case."

"Thanks. We'll be meeting up in the den like we always do - you're gonna be there, right?" Sweetie asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the door. Apparently, no one had noticed she'd arrived yet.

Dash nodded. "I just have to wait for a couple others. Everyone wants to congratulate you."

"How many did you tell?"

"A couple. Not many."

Sweetie smiled halfway, turning to Scootaloo, who had the same face on. "Not many," she repeated lowly, and giggled.

"No, seriously, only, like, four or five or six," she insisted, a hand on her hip. "... I don't remember."

"Hey, it's fine," Sweetie replied with another short laugh. "We should go, though."

"I have the ring in the box so we can have a reveal and everything," Scootaloo commented.

"Tactful." She grabbed her by the hand and walked them over to the door, knocking her knock. "See you inside, Dash."

The door opened before Dash could respond, to Applebloom. As Sweetie noticed the frustration playing on her lips and the upset in her eyes, the wave of memories rushed back to her. She didn't seem angry. Not at all. In fact, in a moment, she smiled, those small emotions parting. But Sweetie understood.

"How was y'all's vacation?" she asked, stepping out and giving them an amicable hug (like they hadn't already had enough).

"It was awesome," Scootaloo replied. "Probably the best one yet. I'm a bit mad you didn't go with us."

"So am ah, a little. Pictures?"

"A bunch of pictures," Scootaloo replied with a grin.

"Come on in." She stepped aside and motioned into the house, shutting the door behind them.

Sweetie had lost her train of thought once she saw Applebloom's face. "It... uh, it smells really good in here," she mentioned offhandedly, suddenly aware she was staring at her but not wanting to look away.

"So -" Scootaloo began.

Sweetie grabbed her hand, which was headed for her pocket. "Wait a moment," she said quietly, as Applebloom finally looked over at her.

Her smile had fallen away again. "Um... Scootaloo, Sweetie and ah have to talk about somethin'."

She knew it was coming, but the words out there seemed to slow her pulse. What was it that made her so uncomfortable about confronting it? She shouldn't be. Right?

She glanced over at Scootaloo, who had an eyebrow raised. "Uh... that's fine, I guess? I mean..." She turned to Sweetie.

"Sorry," Sweetie said quietly, to no one in particular, and followed Applebloom into the dining room nearby.

She stepped in and was greeted with a chill. The dining room was the largest room in the farmhouse, two and a half stories tall and all hardwood, floors and furniture. The colours were warm and inviting, like the rest of the house, but any actual warmth was absent. It didn't sit well with her.

Applebloom closed the door behind them, much more slowly - almost silently. And she leaned against the door as Sweetie found a spot nearby, her hands behind her back out of nervous habit. She couldn't even muster the power to think through what she was going to say, as the room settled into stillness and cold.

Suddenly, Applebloom stood and walked over to a small end table against the wall. Sweetie's stare fell to her feet in a sudden shame.

"Here."

She glanced back up at Applebloom, who was standing in front of her, offering the banded stack of bills.

Sweetie exhaled strongly as she stared down at it, the shame falling away as her second wind came along. "Look... how about we just wait until later, and we can dis-"

"No. Just take it, and then we can head down to the den."

Sweetie hadn't looked away from the bills. "... I - I didn't mean to offend anyone, I was just -"

"Well, you did." She paused. Sweetie knew that pause - but Applebloom didn't ever take back what she said. "Take it and we won't talk about it again."

"I just..." she began again, and trailed off into a sigh. As she looked away, the shame and guilt morphed little by little. "Just keep it. I don't want it back."

Applebloom shook her head, squinting at her in confusion. "What did ah just say? Applejack won't have it. It ain't something we do."

"Well, I'm sorry about that, but you're going to have to take it. Or burn it."

"Sweetie, what the hell. Just put it back in your suitcase. We don't want charity."

Sweetie scowled, her lips unconsciously pursed. Of all the bullheaded people on the planet, the most bullheaded had to be her friend. "I'm not giving out charity, I'm sharing. Keep the money or - or I'm leaving."

They were close, and Sweetie could feel the tension building, but paid it no mind. She pushed Applebloom's hand down. "Keep it."

"Do you want to leave?" Applebloom replied suddenly, her voice raising in volume, her eyes opening wider in surprise and frustration. "Fine. You know where the door is. But you're taking this with you."

" _It's not mine to take anymore._ " She was speaking through her teeth. Of course Applebloom wouldn't understand. There was no way she could understand.

" _We earn what we have!_ " Applebloom shouted, throwing the money at her feet in a sudden wide motion that made Sweetie step back, startled. " _And we ain't got nothin' we didn't earn!_ "

"Woah, what's going on?"

Sweetie jumped again, and turned to the door. Scootaloo was eyeing them both, calculating. She'd noticed that she'd backed up against the table, and grabbed onto the side for support. "It's -"

"Your _girlfriend_ is trying to give us money," Applebloom spat, kicking at the bills on the floor.

"Hey, calm down," Scootaloo replied, raising a hand. Sweetie caught the tired frustration in her glance, and looked away again. She thought she heard Applebloom's response, but it was hazy and backdropped against some kind of abrupt weight she felt in her stomach.

"It's fine," Scootaloo was saying. "You don't have to get so angry about it."

Sweetie turned back to the pair of them. Applebloom had stuffed a hand in her jacket pockets and was looking away, the other hand on her forehead. "No, sometimes ah do have to get angry about it. Look - when - we..." she was stuttering. "We really can't. We can't take it. It ain't somethin' we do."

"That's okay," Scootaloo replied.

"It isn't," Sweetie blurted, recovering her train of thought.

"Sweetie -" Scootaloo said in a sigh.

"No, no, listen."

"Ah'm not doin' this again."

" _Listen_ ," she hissed. "It's not about how much money I have. I mean, it's not about me being high and mighty or whatever. It isn't. So don't take it that way." She walked over and picked up the bills. "It's that I'm your friend and I - I just - I never expected - I want to -" She stopped herself, feeling the weight in her stomach again.

"Hey, just -"

"No, keep going," Applebloom interrupted, crossing her arms.

Sweetie held the bills to her chest. It felt like the two pairs of eyes on her were piercing her, attacking her for something she didn't know how to fix. What did she want? Her mouth moved uselessly.

After a moment, Applebloom scoffed. "What, did you lose your train of thought?"

"I'm sorry -" Sweetie managed, her mind swimming, looking for diplomacy. It felt like such a small thing, but she felt the bills against her chest and realized it wasn't. "I didn't mean to." Scootaloo was nearby in a second, a hand gripping her shoulder gently.

"Oh, don't give me that."

Sweetie shook her head. "I - I don't -"

"Having money ain't hard. You can't bring that crap to the table."

"Wh-"

"It's not having money that's hard. You should know, too, considering we all used to be in the same boat." Her arms had fallen to her hips, and her scowl had been replaced by an angry surprise. "Ah'm not guilty just because you're a martyr about it."

She blinked, and suddenly felt the reality of it crashing down on her.

"Hey. That's harsh," Scootaloo interrupted, her voice rising as well. "In fact, you should take it back."

"Ah -" she started, and clenched her teeth, her scowl and arms both lightening. "Ah'm sorry, Sweetie."

"No, look, don't apologize. You were -"

"We're getting married," Scootaloo said suddenly.

The air stood still. Applebloom put a hand over her mouth, silent. After a moment of shuffling around in her pocket, Scootaloo found the ring, and opened the box. It seemed to be in slow-motion as Applebloom stared over at it, walked closer, and bent down to examine it, her hand not moving. "... Honest?"

"Yeah," Sweetie said briefly. It seemed that everything died as the ringbox opened. It made her proud. Calm. It brought her back, a little, to that happiness of her proposal.

In a moment, Applebloom had leaned forwards and wrapped both of them in a hug. A tight one, too. "Ah'm..." she began softly. "Ah think ah got a little caught up. But, ah mean, you can't give someone eighteen thousand bits and expect it to be not confusing," she added with a short, uncomfortable chuckle.

"Eighteen thousand -"

"Calm down," Sweetie said, shaking her head with a small smirk.

"You didn't know?" Applebloom asked, pulling back and raising an eyebrow.

She looked over at Sweetie, who smiled nervously. "It's - I - I do that."

"Yeah," Scootaloo agreed roughly.

Applebloom looked down at the money again and rubbed at the back of her neck. "... Look, how about we talk about it later?"

"That's what I've been asking for a while."

"So it's settled," Scootaloo said flatly, and grabbed the stack from Sweetie's hands, tossing it onto the table. "Now shut up about it and let's go get that free cider."

"Hear, hear," Sweetie replied weakly.

* * *

They were back in the den, the most condensed area of the house. Green wall-to-wall carpeting, huge comfortable recliners and loveseats, a stone fireplace near the back to warm up the room around this time of year. It was memories on memories of perfect, and they were back again, greeted by the warm hellos and such of the Apple family.

Dash brought two within a couple minutes. She said that they were the only ones she invited who showed - Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie. It was odd seeing them suddenly after more than a year, after so much time with the Apples. They were different, clearly, but parallel - an imprint of how much they lived in the same world. The neverending Ponyville.

"Hiiii!" Pinkie squealed and hugged them both, before releasing the massive load of questions that Sweetie assumed she would. Pinkie was different, yes, but not much at all. Her hair was a bit shorter, and a bit less frizzy, but almost everything else had remained unchanged. And, of course, the scent of cake and cherries preceded her.

Fluttershy, on the other hand, gave only a quiet "Hello, girls" and sat down nearby. Pinkie wasn't giving her any space for anything more, anyways. Sweetie glanced over at her and saw her small, knowing smile, which she'd worn to perfection over the years. It figured that Dash would have trusted her with the information, if not both her and Pinkie.

Scootaloo brought out the pictures soon after everyone had settled down. They laughed about them, one by one, and tossed them onto the coffee table to pass around. The scene-by-scene recap and all the reactions lit up the room, almost until she'd forgotten.

"Remember this one?" Scootaloo was saying. "That was the zipline, over that valley. That's a good one, tell that one."

"Lemme see!" Pinkie cried, and Scootaloo tossed it over.

"Okay, this is good. Do we have any pictures of the aftermath?"

"I dunno. Lemme see - yeah, one."

"Save it for a sec. Okay, so we were about to get on this zipline thing that was part of a tour package thing, right? And first off, Scoots was totally peaked."

"Ah'd assume," Applebloom replied. "She was always gettin' us this close to killin' ourselves way back when."

"I've got the blood of the daredevil," Scootaloo said, laughing.

"Well, try not to lose too much of it."

"Applebloom, you're adorable. Now shut up and let them finish," Applejack called out from near the fire.

"We were - we were being prepped and stuff, and we get all our gear on and take off, and -"

"She was not ready for taking off, first of all," Scootaloo interrupted. "Her eyes were like dinner plates the whole time, it was hilarious."

"We take off and I'm definitely terrified, she was right," Sweetie continued. "I was grabbing onto that handle thing like it would save me if I fell."

"And we got to the midpoint and I look over and Sweetie's reaching at her harness all quick, 'cause one of the straps broke on it."

"What?" Pinkie said with a thespian incredulousness. Sweetie thought she heard Fluttershy gasp, but she wasn't sure. Meanwhile, Applebloom was cackling in the back, almost doubled over.

"Yeah, and it was loud, like a bone broke," Sweetie added. "I was there, grabbing at the thing, and I pulled as hard as I could on it to stabilize myself -"

"We're hundreds of feet above ground right now, by the way. I'm trying to undo mine so I can catch her if she falls."

"And I was straining to hold onto this thing, and right when I was about to let go, we hit the end."

"Jeez," Pinkie interjected.

"That's what you get," Applebloom said, trying to catch her breath. "Y'all think it's a good idea to get on a cheap thrill ride, go ahead, but ah won't be joinin' ya."

"No, no, no, never again," Sweetie said, and Scootaloo laughed. "She took a picture of me with the rig guy at the end," she continued, tossing another picture onto the coffee table.

"And I've never seen someone happier to have almost died," Scootaloo added with a laugh. Sweetie's face in the picture looked like she'd won the lottery twice in a row. A little insane, too.

"I was happy 'cause I wasn't dead," Sweetie corrected. "My arm still kinda hurts."

Of course, once the pictures were over, things kind of died down. So it was perfect timing, just like Sweetie wanted. It felt good to see things slip into place.

She smiled at Scootaloo, still sitting on her box for no reason beside an empty chair. "You want to do the honors?"

She smiled back - no grin, just a small smile - and cleared her throat. "Hey, everyone?"

There wasn't too much to silence, but it was silenced right away.

"We have an announcement."

" _Nooo,_ " Pinkie breathed immediately, staring over at the two of them with her mouth an 'O'. "Really?!"

"Let's - can we say it first?"

Dash, who'd been standing silently near the door, finally made an amused little noise. Sweetie glanced over at her, folding her arms and watching the scene with twinkling eyes, and grinned. When she looked back, Scootaloo was showcasing the ring again. It probably wasn't anything really substantial, but Scootaloo wasn't looking at everyone's surprised faces. She was looking into the box, that small smile still on her face. And it ran another wave of warmth through Sweetie.

"We're getting married."

"Woah," was the first reaction she heard, right before the uproar from Pinkie and Applejack (and all the rest soon after). It came from the back of the room, where Blaine had suddenly perked up.

"What, were you not payin' attention?" Applejack asked, pulling him up and guiding him over with everyone else to see.

"No, I was, I just didn't put two and two together," he mumbled in his almost-monotone.

The words were washed over in a swell of other noises, including an 'oh my gosh' or four and excited hug from Pinkie, with jumbled 'wow's and 'ooh's and 'ahh's from all around them. It was sudden, and warmly encouraging, and forced a grin out of her. She'd almost forgotten about everything that entailed.

"Guys, everyone," she called out, waving her hands to settle them down. It didn't work for a second, but momentarily they grew quiet again. "There are a lot of things that go along with this that we have to still figure out."

Scootaloo picked up. "For one, we're planning on having it at the end of the month, somewhere in Ponyville."

"Most of the stuff's already planned, but, uh..." Sweetie looked over at Applejack and Blaine, Applejack staring excitedly up at her and Blaine staring absently at the ring. She threw a quick side glance at Applebloom and continued. "We need a location."

Applejack's smile fell, only a bit, and she raised an eyebrow. "... What did ya have in mind?"

"Well..." She inhaled. "We were thinking of borrowing a bit of the Acres."

"In case ya didn't notice, there ain't too much open space around here, what with the trees and such," Applejack replied, a hint of amusement ringing in her voice.

"That's part of what I wanted to ask you about. We could... we could clear some space."

At this, Applebloom gave a derisive snort from the back of the room. "Those things have been standin' for three of my lifetime. We ain't tearin' em down."

"I mean, I'd replace them," Sweetie continued quickly. "And I'd rent the labor and land. In fact, I've..." She pursed her lips. "I've already offered a price."

Applejack simply stared, that small smirk frozen on her face. For a moment, Sweetie thought she may not have understood, but then she shook her head and chuckled. "You have to get your way."

"I don't understand what's happening." Pinkie whispered, loudly.

"We're negotiating," Sweetie replied.

Blaine blinked. "Is - this about the -"

"Yup," Applejack replied, in a tired-sounding sigh.

"If you agree, we'll invite you," Scootaloo joked after another moment of tense silence. Applebloom laughed once from the back, giving a confused, amused shrug, and Scootaloo chuckled as well.

"... You know, it's early in the harvest cycle," Blaine murmured. "And we can use the money for landscaping when it's over."

She could see Applejack's gears moving. From the back, a small voice popped up - Applebloom's: "... And they _are_ just trees."

Finally, Applejack snorted and folded her arms. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. But the ceremony better clean up nice."

"Oh, definitely," Sweetie replied, already grinning widely. She could see it. Two in the afternoon, quiet, a light breeze rippling by. Scootaloo in what she'd picked out, her face bright in the unobscured sunlight. She'd already subconsciously thrown an excited arm around her, pulling her closer, and felt Pinkie's embrace grow tighter as the congratulatory noises started up again in a short wave.

"Where are ya gonna have the reception? I wanna go to that, too," Applebloom called from the back, breaking her imagination. "That's the fun part."

"Don't worry," she called back. "I have everything planned out." She looked away, remembering that there was something else. Oh, duh. "Also," she added, looking back and squirming some room out of the small crowd of people, "we're gonna be leaving right away afterwards for the studio, and we were wondering whether you'd want to go."

The sound died away again, to silence. Applejack looked over at her again, the first expression with the raised eyebrow on her face. "Uh..."

"Maybe we should explain," Scootaloo began, badly suppressing a laugh at the sudden reaction. "Uh, I'm gonna be working with Sweetie in music, probably for a while. And we thought it would be cool to tour around a little bit, and we thought that Applebloom could come along."

"... Well, for how long?" Applebloom asked, her mouth hanging open.

"I dunno," Sweetie replied. "Like, a year."

"Jeez," Applebloom said, glancing over at Applejack, who shrugged and murmured "I don't care."

"I mean, you don't have to decide now. We still have a couple weeks before we leave," Scootaloo said.

She rested her head on her cheek and leaned against the back of the nearby easy chair. "Uh... phew. I'm gonna need some time to think about it, yeah."

Sweetie grinned over at Scootaloo, feeling a little rush as the pieces fell into place and the check boxes were checked. "... We're getting married," she said lowly.

At that, everyone started up again. Just like she wanted.

* * *

They left not too much later, after a couple more words from everyone. Dash took off first, and it cued them to say their goodbyes. Then, they walked hand-in-hand into the chill of the late night, washed with staticky, ticklish excitement.

"I can't believe it," Sweetie continued, trying to hold a low conversation as she beat out the shivering. "I mean, I can, but... wow, it just - it's all coming together, and then it's... it's the rest of our lives."

She looked over at Scootaloo, who smiled quickly in reply. "... Yeah, I know."

"We're still a go for the end of the month?"

Her smile, already weak, faltered.

Sweetie opened her mouth to say something, 'what's the matter' probably, but held her tongue as Scootaloo looked down. She knew what that meant, and stopped walking, waiting in the relative silence of the night.

Scootaloo glanced up for a moment, and caught her eye before looking back down. She began with a deep, calculating inhale. "... I'm still kind of worried."

She remained silent, putting a hand in her pocket slowly.

"I - I mean, it's..." She swallowed and started again. "Because, you know, we're only 'together' now. A 'couple'. But when - eventually we're gonna be married. And it'll be totally a different kind of thing," she continued, kicking at the rocky dirt path as her eyes darted out of the gleam of moonlight.

Sweetie reached out hesitantly for her hand and grasped it gently once she found it. "... Is this about your parents?"

"No," she replied immediately. Then she looked to the door, throwing a hand on the back of her neck. "I mean, so what if it is? It isn't anyway."

"You know I'm just here to help -"

"Can - do you understand at all what I'm saying? How everything'll change?" She glanced up again, longer, but quickly stared back at her shoes. "What if - what if we get annoyed at something, like, a quirk that the other one has? It wouldn't be the same, and - and I really want it to be the same."

Sweetie smiled a small, dumb smile despite the situation. "Scootaloo. We've known each other forever. What could change?"

"I don't know, alright?" Scootaloo snapped, pulling her hand away and stuffing it into her jacket pocket. "I don't know, but I don't want to know. I just don't want to - to get tired of everything that we have together now 'cause -" She cut herself short, unable to form the rest of her thought, and breathed into her hands with a shiver instead, her gaze still steady on something off in the distance.

Sweetie understood full well what she meant. It was something that had crossed her mind, but it was something she could always rectify with images of the future, both near and far. She was more enthusiastic than anxious, but didn't know how to relate that to her. With a short inhale, she tried to take Scootaloo's hand again, but she quickly put her hand back into her pocket.

"I just don't know what the best idea is. What the best way to go about this is," she continued softly, more to herself, as she stared solidly at the ground. "It - it's all over the place with me, and I don't -"

"Scootaloo."

"- I don't know whether to go through with it, or wait, because I do want to, but I don't really know how soon -"

"Scootaloo, look at me."

"- because, I mean, it's - just - it's what could happen that freaks me out -"

"Scootaloo, _look at me_."

The tone in her voice made Scootaloo lift her head, her sentence cut short abruptly. And as their eyes met, Sweetie promptly lost her train of thought. "... I don't... I know that..." she attempted, looking around as though to jog her memory. But in a moment, she gave up and pressed a quiet hand against her neck, stroking her cheek once slowly with her thumb and watching her stare soften. With no words forming in her mind, she simply brought Scootaloo in for a kiss just long enough to communicate her sympathy.

It sometimes took her by surprise that Scootaloo was another acting person, who moved on her own. It sometimes felt odd to recognize the hand on her back as that other acting person's hand, or the gentle breath on her lips as that of another. It was a subconscious feeling, subtle, but present. And for whatever reason, it filled out every meaningful kiss even more.

Their lips were no longer touching. Sweetie was staring up at Scootaloo's closed eyes, trying desperately to reduce the complex to simplicity. "Maybe... we just won't do that," she whispered. "We're smart enough to work around it, right."

Scootaloo said nothing, but after a short, fluid, and probably unintentional nuzzle, she pressed forwards once more.

It was cut short by the closing of a screen door just beyond them. Scootaloo pulled away before Sweetie had any time to register the sound. "Hey. Uh, sorry, we just got... caught up," she said, her voice a sudden neutral as the beam of electric light from the house framed them both.

Sweetie turned. Applebloom was standing on her porch, a hand on her hip. "It's - fine. Ah just wanna, um..." She trailed off, looking up for a moment. "Ah've decided that ah'm gonna do it. Ah'll go."

Scootaloo smiled - she felt it. "Really? Cool."

"We'll set up the details sometime in the next week," Sweetie added, with a smile of her own as her imagination booted back up. "But for now, start packing, I guess."

"Also," Applebloom said, her hand falling to her side tiredly. "Would... would you come up here for a moment? Just - just you."

Sweetie looked over to Scootaloo with a wry smile. "Sorry, I gotta take this," she joked under her breath before approaching the deck.

"No, just inside the house," Applebloom said, motioning to the open door.

She stepped in to the warmth and aroma again and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms, as Applebloom followed her in. She didn't say anything for a moment as Applebloom looked up the stairs and down the nearby hall.

Finally, she turned back to Sweetie. "... You know ah'm - ah'm sorry."

Sweetie nodded, not wanting to make eye contact. "Yeah, but... I dunno, you were kind of harshly truthful."

"Ah don't want you to take it like that -"

"No, it's okay. I've tried to be humble, but that was just a trip-up. It won't happen again." She pursed her lips, and her arms relaxed a bit.

Applebloom was silent for a moment, a hand on her hip again. "Either way," she began after a moment, "thank you."

"It's fine."

"Ah mean it," she continued, prompting Sweetie to try to rebut once more before she found herself cut off by a forceful hug. "Ah do mean it."

She opened her mouth for a moment, but simply reached her arms around and returned the hug soundlessly.

Suddenly, they jumped in unison as her phone beeped at the maximum volume. She backed up and checked it with a quick flip of the wrist. "Oh. I gotta get back to the apartment." She looked back up. "Uh - I'll see you later sometime."

Applebloom had a small smirk on. "Ah'm... ah'm kinda excited."

"I know, right?" She grinned.

On the way back out, she took Scootaloo firmly by the hand and threw invisibility over herself, glancing over at her smile. "Are we gonna be alright?" she whispered.

Scootaloo nodded after a moment. "I just got to thinking. Everything's still ready for the end of the month."

"So..." she trailed off. "We're clear?"

Scootaloo gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they made their way out of the acres. "We're clear."

She waited a moment as they walked down the dark dirt path, Scootaloo's footsteps loud in comparison to her own. The chill of night began to settle on her as soon as it grew quiet, like shadow filling a room as the door closes. "Here's what we're gonna do," she began.

"Yeah?"

"We're gonna do the wedding as planned, on the thirtieth."

"Okay."

She scanned her voice for objection before she continued. "Since, uh, I'd planned the wedding a few weeks ago, we basically already had our honeymoon."

"Aw," she replied, and chuckled under her breath.

"So we're just gonna head over to the studio and I'll show you guys around. I'll show you the house, too."

"Right."

"And..." She repositioned her fingers to better fit around Scootaloo's. "We agreed to be public?"

"That's what I'd assumed."

"Well, here's a plan. I have four or five little pieces lined up unpublished at the studio. I was thinking I'd rework some of them, to more fit a congruent mood, and I'd publish an extended play - and the album cover would be our hands together, yours out with the ring."

She saw Scootaloo nod. "That's... that's clever. A lot more clever than what I was thinking."

"And here's the cool part. Goddess is mystery, right? Well, you wouldn't even be actually mentioned. You'd be a concept. It'd fit the whole vibe."

She saw Scootaloo nod again, slower.

"Is - is that okay? I don't want to make you seem unimportant, if -"

"No, no, it's cool. And it could even keep, like, the safety net together. It's clever." She paused. "Would we be in public together?"

"Oh, absolutely. I already have a wardrobe for you."

"I bet you do."

Sweetie snickered, and Scootaloo followed along with a laugh, slowing to a stop in a moment. Sweetie leaned in for a kiss, but stepped back when Scootaloo jumped.

"Woah, don't - don't do that. That's freaky, seriously," she said, wiping at her lips and shaking her head.

"What?"

"I mean, I can't see you - you could be, like, anything. If you were randomly something else, I'd have a heart attack and just die."

Sweetie laughed. "I guess I'll wait until we get home," she replied, and reached forwards for her hand again. "Is this less scary?"

Scootaloo chuckled. "I wasn't scared, I was startled."

"Sure."

* * *

She always turned the ceiling light off before she get her guitar out, but left the bedside lamp on. Its shade bathed the whole room in baby blue - it felt more secretive that way.

She watched the notifications in the chat pop up one at a time, and ignored them, waiting patiently for the call to go through. The notes formed in her head one by one as she glanced at the strings - there's the G chord, and the D, and the E sharp. She plucked out a muffled scale, only barely audible above the grey noise in her earbuds.

It was 1:32. They'd said 1:30. She bit her lip and moved back to the chat, which was still rotating rapidly. Her friends from school - Red Vine, Crest Gleam, and Chanterelle - were still going on about their Philosophy class. Of course, it was the one class she wasn't a part of, so maybe they wouldn't mind that she'd left for an hour.

 _That's not true. Mrs. Grisaille said that psychology begets destiny._

 _but think about what that means! a person can change, so that cant be valid._

 _How so?_

 _because the statement assumes that a person cant change or their psychology would change and so their destiny would change! and then what about their cutie marks?_

 _what about dual cutie marks?_ she typed quickly, keeping an eye on the call.

 _no because the first one would still be invalid_

Suddenly, the little watery sound that meant the call was answered rang in her earbuds and she quickly minimized the chat. "H-hello?" she said quietly into her small microphone.

"Hey," came the bright voice, quickly becoming clear through the clipping. "It's late, so let's get through this progression so I can go to bed."

Lily smiled unintentionally as the picture cleared. It was so odd, seeing her in a sweater and pajama pants almost mirroring hers, sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed with a six-thousand bit guitar. No one had ever seen her out of either her white suit, her casual white ensemble, or her business three-piece tuxedo. But there she was. It gave her chills sometimes.

Goddess smiled back, moving to a G. "Do you have your fingers right yet?"

She nodded, and moved over a bit to show her. It still wasn't comfortable, with her ring finger bent as oddly as it was, but it produced the sound right.

"Raise your pinky a bit more," the soft voice commanded. She did. "Alright, play it." She did, and was met with a responding G-chord. "There you go. Can you move from A to G yet?"

"I - I think," she replied, flexing her fingers over the strings.

"Lemme see."

She fumbled as she pressed against the fret, muting one of the strings. "N-no, wait. Y - um, one sec." She tried again, producing a sound a bit louder than she'd wanted. "Was that it?"

"That was really close. Keep working on that, and don't go for speed at first. It's always clarity before speed."

"O - okay. Thanks," she added in a distracted mumble as she leaned over the body again.

As she played the chord, she heard a harsh ringing in her earbuds, and glanced up. Goddess was reaching across the bed, mumbling past her microphone something like 'I gotta get this'. She sat and waited, her fingers moving subconsciously.

It was sudden. Goddess looked down at her phone and frowned before holding it up to her ear. Whoever was on the other line had spoken fast. Within seconds, the phone had fallen from her hand and her eyes had grown twice their size in pure, virulent fear.

" _Scootaloo?!_ "

She stared on in confusion as Goddess scrambled off the bed, and cringed when she heard the sound of the guitar clatter against the ground. "We have to go," she was shouting, frenzied, tearing apart the closet only barely in view. "Scootaloo! It's my mom!"

Suddenly, she caught motion in the corner of the screen. Someone she'd never seen before came practically sprinting into the room, dim purple hair a total mess, shouting "What? Are you okay?" almost as loudly.

Goddess looked up and behind her, before grabbing a bag out of the closet and beginning to stuff clothes into it. "We have to go! Get stuff for a week, we have to leave now!"

At 'now', her voice had broken and she'd turned closer to the camera. Lily clasped a hand over her mouth as she realized Goddess was crying.

Scootaloo had rushed over to her, and pulled her away from the bag, bringing her swiftly into a tight embrace. Lily could only see their shoulders down at that angle. "Calm down. Sweetie, come on. Tell me what's going on," she heard, barely distinct through the microphone, over Goddess' rising sobs. That was her name - Sweetie something.

"It's Mom, she -" Goddess paused, and moved away. "We have to go. If we go now, we can see her."

A moment of near-silence as Goddess began to pack again. "I - I'm so sorry, Sweetie."

"No, no, she's not - not gone - not yet, but we have to go. Go pack." The crying had quickly deteriorated, but her words were still strained and thick with tears.

Scootaloo walked closer to her and pulled her up from the closet again. "Come here," she heard. Then there were muffled words, a couple short sentences between the two, and a stressed breathing laced with short whimpers picked up as their embrace grew tighter.

She still had her hand over her mouth in shock, watching in silence and morbid curiosity. Who was Scootaloo? What about Goddess' mother? There was a flurried influx of questions and she had a feeling she wouldn't be getting any answers.

She saw Goddess go back to the closet, and Scootaloo walked closer to the bed. Her eyes were bright violet, and wet, her eyebrows furrowed in stress and worry. She looked closer at the camera, and reached out a hand to shut the laptop.

As "call ended" popped up on the screen, she ran a hand through her hair, briefly unable to even attempt comprehension.

She sat her guitar gently by her bed, and looked dumbly at the motion of the chat. In a few moments, she snapped the laptop shut, another shiver rippling through her as she forced herself to remember that a secret is a secret, and a promise is a promise.

* * *

The dim white lights were doing nothing for the roil brewing in her mind and in her chest. The distressed sobbing had left her once the plane had arrived, but the facts remained, and so did the dull pain of anxiety. For a while, she'd stared at the dim white lights and periodically forced herself calm when she felt her face growing tight. It wasn't any comfort.

This one was larger, and she got it specifically because the seats were sleepers, and adjacent to one another. It felt good to have a new plane. If it were the old plane, she would be reminded about... when...

She felt another round of hot tears and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her wrist, sniffling.

She felt Scootaloo's hand on her shoulder in a moment, massaging it with a ferocity. "Hey," she whispered, hoarse for lack of sleep.

Sweetie laid a hand over hers. "It's okay. Go to bed."

"I can't until you do," came the sluggish response. "You first."

"I won't be able to," she murmured in reply, trying desperately not to think about it.

"You haven't had much sleep." She chuckled lowly. "Neither have I." When Sweetie didn't react, Scootaloo drew her hand down Sweetie's arm gently. "It's gonna be alright."

"You don't know that," she replied, hit momentarily with the truth of the statement. "You have no idea."

"Of course I have no idea," Scootaloo replied roughly. "I'm just trying to be comforting. It's not easy." She sighed, and Sweetie saw her turn to the window in her peripheral. "You're a mystery, Goddess."

The discomfort from the situation, and the noise of the plane, and the lack of sleep, and the unnecessary conversation, had grown to a boil. "Can you stop with the quips for just one - just five minutes, please?" she snapped, whipping her head around. "For five minutes."

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood," Scootaloo replied with a scowl.

Sweetie sputtered on her words for a moment. "I don't _want_ the mood lightened!" There it was. "I want to feel sad. And worried. And upset. Do you get that?"

Scootaloo's scowl fell away, and her tired resignation returned. "... Alright. I know how you feel."

"No, you don't!" She wasn't done yet. Scootaloo couldn't be more unfiltered. Not once had she ever thought anything through before speaking, and it suddenly frustrated her to no end. "You know you don't know how I feel! This is - this is the -" She felt the tears return, their intention indiscernible. "This is the - the worst feeling possible."

Scootaloo's hand had returned in a second, gripping her own as the tears sprang forth in full force. In a moment, she'd leaned forwards and pressed a hand against her forehead, over her eyes, like it would relieve the pressure from her tightened lungs. She barely heard Scootaloo's quiet shushing, or her quiet "It's alright. Let it out now. You don't need to be strong."

At 'strong', she clenched her jaw to regulate her breathing and, with some effort, sat up straighter. She _did_ need to be strong. With her sister likely in the same state, she couldn't arrive on scene as the mess she was. As she recognized the warmth tender on her forearm again, she glanced over at Scootaloo through the tears - her violet eyes half-lidded but still concerned.

She didn't deserve what Sweetie had said. "... I -"

"I know. It's alright," she repeated, glazing over a bit. "You know... I think you need a good cry."

Sweetie raised an eyebrow, her teeth still clenched. "What do you mean."

"Well..." Scootaloo began, shifting about in her seat. "You cry a bunch. You know? And you're always still emotional after. A good cry should drain you, right?" She chuckled bitterly. "I've gotten that once. Twice, actually. I think it's healthy, personally."

Sweetie stared over at her, only softly illuminated by the dim white lights, her eyes no longer shimmering as they usually did. Dead and serious. As she spoke, a wave of memories flooded around her, and worries came in tow, overpowering each memory one by one. "B-but..." she managed, feeling that burning again, so seditious to any level of grace or stability.

"Just let it out. I won't tell anyone," she added drowsily.

"I - I can't mess this up," she began, her voice already weak and strained. "I can't let this happen again."

"Happen... what happen again?" she asked in a slur, repositioning herself once more (perhaps to wake herself up).

Sweetie looked back at her, and caught eye contact for the first time in a while. "You... don't know." Scootaloo gave a weak shrug, and Sweetie . "I wouldn't expect you to. I don't think I ever told you."

"Well, tell me."

She looked away, down at her feet, not particularly wanting to recount it. But she swallowed that feeling. "When... I - um..." she began, unsure of how to phrase it with her head all muddy.

"... Take your time," Scootaloo said, just above a whisper.

She felt her lip tremble. It wasn't something she wanted to revisit. "When Dad - when he went critical, I wasn't there." She inhaled slowly. "I knew it had happened before, and he'd been fine."

She heard no response, and looked over at Scootaloo, who was staring at the seat across from her, her eyebrows knitted.

"So - so I sat at home and played my -" she motioned to the air, reaching for words. "... My violin."

Another gentle circle was traced along her back by a soft palm as the tears became unstoppable. "And - and when I heard the news, the f- the first thing I did was break that violin. I hung up and threw it at the wall." She barely managed the last couple words - her throat was too tight.

She didn't expect silence. She expected Scootaloo to somehow overreact, or throw more condolences at her, or something. Not silence. But there it was, over her labored breathing and quiet sniffling. She wiped at her cheeks again, uselessly, and glanced over, thinking for a moment Scootaloo had fallen asleep. But she was alert, and the only feature with any sympathy showing was her eyes, glimmering flatly in the dim white lights.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, more clearly than she'd spoken previously, and moved her hand lower down Sweetie's back. "Everything's going to be alright."

Sweetie didn't argue this time. Scootaloo's shift in tone comforted her, in a backwards way. She wasn't being false about it. She never was. And if she was genuine, maybe she was right. In the hushed moment, Scootaloo leaned down and pressed her head against Sweetie's chest, dwarfing herself as she curled up tightly in the seat as far as the seatbelt would allow. Without any other words, she fell asleep.

Sweetie stared down at her for what must have been a few solid minutes, her mind running in circles around everything. A hand found its way down to Scootaloo's side to rest, and she kept it there. The tears had stopped as suddenly as they had come, and she felt drained. So she stared back at the dim white lights, imagining them as stars, and wishing desperately on them as she drifted to sleep.

* * *

They'd taken a taxi from the private airport. Scootaloo had said that she was worried, a bit, that they would be in a major city and she could be recognized, so her disguise was a bit more in-depth - the hair, the eyes, and some facial blur that she'd been working on. It was a low-grade perception filter, but it would work on most unsuspecting people.

The taxi smelled like cigarettes and cheap cleaning liquids. But it should have, anyways, and it wasn't surprising. Sweetie was lost, looking out the window, and couldn't remember speaking a word during the entire drive. Scootaloo was leaning against her, warm and comforting, but it didn't distract from her mood all that much.

Finally, they'd made their way into the suburbs. Deeper they went, past dozens, hundreds of houses of varying aesthetics. The colours sped by, and blended in the early, early-morning sun, and Sweetie simply couldn't keep her mind off of it no matter how hard she tried to tell herself it was going to be okay.

It felt like an hour. It may have been. But finally, they arrived at the large plot of land, with the tiny brick rancher as centerpiece. She saw the familiar fence to the left as they pulled up, and threw off her seatbelt immediately, probably waking Scootaloo up in the process. Before the cab had stopped, she'd flung open the door and begun sprinting down the cobblestone path to the house. Maybe it was happening now. Maybe she could make it in time.

She saw Rarity open the door, and almost immediately she felt tears on her face again. Frustrated tears, frightened tears. "Rarity!" she called out, her vision narrowing, her sprint falling to a jog. "Rarity? Is she okay?!"

"Sweetie Belle," Rarity cried over her, as she came to an aggressive halt at the porch. "She's stable."

"She's okay?"

"Yes, darling, she's fine, it's fine," Rarity replied quickly, her arms open to accept Sweetie's embrace, which followed momentarily, and intensely. She grabbed the back of her jacket and balled a fistful of linen, the tears building up into those terrible, uncontrollable sobs. And she thought she wouldn't cry.

"The doctor's in the room now," Rarity said, her voice only just above a whisper. "I brought him over once I got your call. He'll tell you about it."

Sweetie wanted to say something, probably, but there was no room to think about conversation in her brain at the moment. She was only able to mutter a consonant or two in-between short breaths.

"Sweetie," she heard Scootaloo vaguely behind her. "... Let's get her inside," probably to Rarity.

 _Use your brain,_ she managed to think, lamely. _Speak._ But she couldn't find words. And she wouldn't let go of her sister, not if they tried to pry her off.

* * *

It settled in a few minutes. Sweetie had fallen back to a scowl and periodic shuddering breaths, and was resting her head against her hand on the kitchen table. The fan above blew light, lukewarm air down onto the top of her head, making her eyes itchy.

Rarity had gone to talk with the doctor again, and Sweetie decided she'd put a suit on before dealing with him. Now, she was just sitting at the scratched blue kitchen table, glancing periodically over at Scootaloo, who was reading something in the chair opposite.

"I, um," she began, her voice unnaturally loud in the unnaturally quiet room. "I want you to know I didn't mean to make a big show out of that."

"No, no, I know," Scootaloo replied. "Like I said, you needed a good cry."

Sweetie felt the tug of a smile play on her lips. "I don't feel all that much better, really."

"I wouldn't expect you to," she replied softly, and turned another page. "I hope you get better soon, though."

Sweetie rubbed at her sore eyes. "Thanks." She looked up at the fan, which was moving much slower than she felt it. "... What are you reading?"

"Oh, just, uh, tech stuff. A magazine."

Sweetie suppressed a giggle. "I never figured you would get into that."

She rubbed her neck, closing the magazine on her finger. "I mean, you know. It's interesting, I guess."

"But don't you like doing any kind of adventuring things anymore?" Sweetie asked, getting up and walking around to her. She leaned on the table with a hand on her hip. "Like, when's the last time you did something dangerous?"

"Well, we just went on a zipline."

"No," Sweetie laughed, "I mean when I'm not around. Don't you do something dumb every once in a while, like base jumping or something?"

Scootaloo looked pensively at the nearby counter. "Uh... I went mountain climbing last year. A couple people from work and I backpacked through the Capitols."

Sweetie leaned down next to her, resting her chin in the little gap between her neck and shoulder-bone that she knew so well. "We should think about doing more of that kind of thing."

"Yeah," she mumbled, and grinned in that half-amused way she did every once in a while.

Almost as though nothing at all was wrong, like it was a dream, it had grown silent again. In a momentary decision, she let the warmth on her cheek settle, before leaning forwards a little and turning her head for a kiss. Only twice did she feel any pressure on her lips, but it was soft and loose and caring, and she didn't mind how short it was.

Then, the weight fell on her heavily. "... I should go... talk to the doctor."

She finally caught Scootaloo's eye, and stared at her for the second of quiet. "... You know what I'm going to say," she murmured, her voice like liquid, gentle on the ear.

Sweetie inhaled, and swallowed her lips. "Say it anyways," she whispered in reply, the whisper loud in the stillness of the room.

Scootaloo nuzzled against her slowly. "... I love you."

Maybe she didn't know what Scootaloo was going to say. It certainly wasn't that. And Scootaloo always said that towards the end of a conversation. She felt her eyebrows tighten into a familiar worried scowl. "I love you too," she breathed in reply, and stalked off for the stairs.

* * *

She had one last scrutinizing glance at the mirror and made her way out into the hall.

As she turned the corner she saw Rarity standing by her mother's closed door, her arms folded, speaking quietly to a balding middle-aged man in a casual dress shirt and bright blue tie. His face was pinched, but doughy, and he didn't appear to have a jawline at all. The doctor, she presumed.

His reaction was gold. He did a double-take, and Sweetie could see the exact moment of recognition. As far as Sweetie could tell, he was trying to say something, but it came out a waterfall of babbling. "G - w - is that -" and on. But Sweetie didn't have time or patience.

"Okay, first rule," she began, her voice heavy and forceful. She stepped up to him, squaring up as well as she could for his height. "Ignore my identity completely. No questions, no comments, no requests."

His mouth was still open in shock, and it almost made her smile. But not quite.

"Rule two." She held up another finger. "You will be on call twenty-four seven. If she ever needs something, you will be on your way in five minutes. You'll get a bonus of seven thousand bits."

He hadn't nodded yet.

"Rule three, final rule." She held up a third finger, her expression hardening. "Nothing spoken in this house leaves this house. Nothing at all, not even the fact that I was here." She put her hand on her hip. "I'm sure I don't need to threaten you."

He said nothing, but looked, confused, at Rarity, who put a hand to her forehead. "... Yes, give her the information."

He looked back at Sweetie, then closed his eyes as though preparing himself. "Um... how much are you aware of already?"

"I know the details of the disease, and I know she was very recently in critical," Sweetie replied, her voice falling from Goddess to concerned daughter.

He cleared his throat. "Yes. We were able to save her through some quick work, but she's still technically in a critical stage. We've set the stage's ending point by about three weeks from now."

"So... she has to make it to then." Her tongue had grown numb.

"Not quite," the doctor replied with a sigh of bedside sympathy. "If she reaches that point, she will simply remain in the severe stage of the disease, rather than the critical. One of three things can happen: she could make it past the three weeks, she... could not make it, or she could go into remission and stabilize."

Sweetie's mouth had gone dry again. "... What are her chances."

"For pulling through?"

"Either."

The doctor moved his folder from his hands to under his arm. "For pulling through, she has about a thirty percent chance. For remission, ten."

 _so it'll be this month then_

"... Thank you, doctor."

The hallway was silent for a moment as Sweetie reflexively cupped a hand over her mouth.

Rarity placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "She's awake, if you'd like to see her."

"Of course I would. You're dismissed," she nodded to the doctor, who, reinvigorated with a little fear in his eyes, promptly took his leave. "Oh, and Rarity, could you get Scootaloo? I'm not sure she's met Mom."

When Rarity had gone downstairs, she leaned against the door and allowed herself a couple silent tears.

* * *

She heard her gasp before she'd even fully opened the door. " _Sweetie Belle!_ Is that _you_ , honey bunch?"

Her mother was as she'd left her - stranded in bed, weak, pale, but with her hair up like she was going out, and with a bit of persistent pep still radiating from her. Exactly like her mother would be.

Immediately she was struck with relief and a crushing sadness, and practically leapt to her bedside, taking a knee. "Yeah, it's me, Mom, how - how are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she responded immediately, her brash voice filling the room and tingling with her accent. "I mean, besides bein' a little tied up at the moment," she added, and laughed.

Sweetie felt herself laugh too, intertwined with a sob. She grabbed her mother's hand and pressed it to her face, only tangentially aware that her cheeks were already wet. The warmth relieved her like nothing else.

Her mother tsk'ed through her grin. "Don't ya worry about me, Sweetie, okay? I'm holding out as long as I need to." She leaned in a bit. "Rarity tells me you're gettin' _hitched_."

Sweetie had entirely forgotten about Rarity and Scootaloo, who had followed her into the room, but was reminded with Rarity's snort. "Not the way I put it at all."

"Yeah, I - I am engaged, though, Mom," Sweetie stammered in reply, standing and grabbing Scootaloo by the arm. "This is my fiancée, Scootaloo."

"H-hello, ma'am," Scootaloo interjected awkwardly, sticking her hand out.

"Oh, I can't use my hands all that much, dearie," her mother replied, as kindly as she could - not that any amount of kindness could help in that sort of situation. Scootaloo immediately dropped her arm and began mumbling some kind of apology, which her mother waved off. "Don't think anything of it," she said, and beamed. "How do you two know each other?"

"Oh, we go way back," Sweetie replied, glancing over at Scootaloo, who gave a half-grin. "We've been friends for a while now, and together for - what, five years?"

"Doesn't feel that long," Scootaloo replied, quietly.

"That's all well and good, but do you treat my baby like you should?"

Scootaloo's body language read 'uncomfortable quite clearly, and it made a sort of excuse to get her and Rarity out of them room for a while. "Y - yeah... ? I - I mean, yes. Of - of course."

Her mother giggled. "I'm only teasin', ya know."

"Hey, I'd like to talk to Mom one-on-one for a while, so could you..." she trailed off, looking from Rarity to Scootaloo pleadingly.

"Oh, sorry. Yeah, definitely," Scootaloo replied, waving a short goodbye to Sweetie's mother. "Sorry," she added again before ducking out into the hallway with Rarity quietly behind her.

Sweetie turned back to her mother, who was still staring at the door. "... She seems nice."

"Oh, she is. She certainly is."

"I hope I'll get to know her better."

Sweetie felt that pressure behind her eyes again, but couldn't think of anything to say. She simply wiped at her cheeks as surreptitiously as she could.

"... Do ya think that you're perfect for each other?"

"... I don't understand." Her mother's voice had become almost somber - a rare occurrence.

"That's the only way love can really work - if you're perfect for each other," her mother replied, looking up at her with a brightness in her eye. "Ya know that."

She knelt back down. "I guess I do," she replied quietly. "Mom, I love you. I - I didn't get to say that to Dad."

Her mother nodded. "I remember. But you know I'll be fine."

She grasped her hand again. "... I know you will."

"Now that you've got that all settled," she said, her voice rising again, and her eyes shining even brighter, "play me something."

* * *

She hadn't been paying full attention, but her mother had fallen asleep by 4:47.

She only knew that because the grandfather clock in her mother's room had been dropped in the move, and its gears had shifted - so instead of chiming on the hour, it always chimed exactly 47 minutes after. The chime was dull, as well, as though a bell had dented somewhere in its broken wooden head.

The muffled _bong_ had caused her to look over from the violin. For a moment, her heart skipped - her mother had fallen still, her mouth open, her head to the side. But then Sweetie saw the sheets rise and fall, and held a fist against her own chest to calm herself. She whispered a low, relieved chuckle, and walked out, closing the door as quietly as she could behind her.

No one was in the hallway. She turned around, and stared at the blank wooden door for a moment, ruminating.

 _i could have had this with Dad_

But that was a useless thought. She shook her head clear of it and walked downstairs, looking around to the den and the kitchen and the dining room. No one there, either.

"Scoots? Rarity?" she called out, tentatively, almost hoping they didn't answer. And they didn't. She grabbed her purse from the mess of travelbags on the dining room table and stepped out the screen door in the kitchen to the back porch, shivering as the chill found her skin.

"Cold," she murmured to herself, her mind far removed. "Cold, cold, cold." _Why did this have to happen now? Why, right before the wedding, before my new life? Why couldn't it happen later, when I was more myself?_ "Cold."

The two woven-metal chairs had been replaced by a dull blue-cushioned bench, matching the porch's bluish-white paint. She sat and stared at the fenced half-acre backyard, watching the wind ripple through the tall grass. It was good that she was here. It was good that she got to speak to her mother. It was good that she'd been feeling 'better'. But it was terrifying. Because she could do nothing but watch, watch as events fell into place. Watch the wind ripple through any sense of stability she had left.

She pressed her head into her hands, her arms resting on her knees. The way her face lit up when she introduced Scootaloo. It... it wasn't as nice of a memory as she'd thought it would be. Perhaps she'd never see it happen again.

 _no, stop, what are you doing_

Her phone buzzed from her purse, tearing the stressed silence in two. Five o'clock had come quickly. She silenced it, and grabbed the pack from the bottom of her purse. It had become muscle memory, and took no thought at all. The taste from the imports was certainly better, but she didn't know whether she wanted that.

It'd only been a minute or so before she heard the screen door creak open. "Sweetie, we're making dinner," she heard her sister say, that gracious hush over her voice. "Mom needs to eat early, for her medication. Do you want to..."

She heard footsteps, and glanced over to see Scootaloo leaning out of the door past Rarity. "... It's casserole."

"Mom's asleep," she replied, and put the cigarette to her lips again, for a lack of words.

She didn't wholly expect it, but when she felt the bench shift to her left, then her right, and felt gentle arms across her shoulders, it felt natural. Rarity on her left, Scootaloo on her right, each close, in different ways. Her hand hadn't left her lips, and wouldn't for a minute or so, as the little white body of the cigarette shrivelled and died.

It'd crawled until only a quarter of an inch was left white, then she felt the pressure of a head on her right shoulder and the pressure of that little caress on her left, carrying endless nostalgia. And she suddenly felt unrestrainedly angry.

In a wild spasm, a sudden release of energy, she leapt to her feet and threw what was left of the cigarette onto the ground, crushing it under her foot. A reckless kick forwards sent its body into the air, into the lawn, little red embers flying after it. She watched it go and collapsed back onto the bench, back into the warmth of other people, and covered her face again.

She didn't wholly expect it, but when she felt those arms shift from around her back to around her torso in a two-sided embrace, it felt natural.

* * *

Her sinuses had flared up. The lack of smell made dinner odd, like she was in a movie rather than real life. She'd stuffed her earbuds in and drowned out Scootaloo's conversation with Rarity - it felt disjointed and out-of-place, and she didn't want to hear it.

It was with them that she'd gotten around to struggling, after the last few hours. It wasn't right to sit in a mood for the next month. She needed to participate a bit. Act natural. But honestly, she didn't at all want to make herself uncomfortable, so she wouldn't. And she knew they would understand.

It was her sister's casserole, the one she'd had so many times before. It was easy to make, so she'd heard, and it certainly tasted fine. But she just didn't want to go through the process of eating, she she simply stared down at it and twirled it with her fork, focusing more on her music than on the food.

As she picked apart another green bean, she felt a light, familiar pressure on her cheek. Not at the table, she thought, giving an amused little smile and batting it away. A couple seconds later, a carrot on a fork slowly appeared in her peripheral vision, and she turned to Rarity and Scootaloo, taking out one of her earbuds. "What?"

They were laughing. "We were wondering whether you were gonna eat," Scootaloo said, waving the carrot around, "so I tried to wake you up."

Sweetie felt the vestiges of that amused smile resurface. "Nah, I'm - I'm good for tonight. I'll just, uh, snack later or something," she replied. They stared back at her blankly.

After a moment, Scootaloo responded by pressing the carrot against her mouth. "N - n - stop - I don't want -" she spluttered, the splutter developing into a laugh. It felt good, for a moment. And she was glad.

Rarity and Scootaloo laughed with her, and it felt like they'd laughed longer than they should have. But they'd stopped laughing at something funny and started laughing just because.

* * *

As it grew dark, she gravitated to the window, just to look out at the illuminated suburb street. It was a while before her torrential thoughts died away and she found her way to her bedroom.

The lights were off. Instead of the fluorescent, "tastefully-dim" pink of her walls, the moonlight showed her a bluish, ashy red. Scootaloo was on her bed, in the shadow of the curtain, lying down cross-legged and holding a shotglass steady on her chest. Sweetie leaned against the lip of the wall near the light switch, staring.

It only took a few seconds before Scootaloo noticed her, and when she did, she slid off the bed and stood in front of the window, her drink still in her hand, and stared back. "... How you doing?" she began gently.

Sweetie's mouth was dry. Her gaze fell away, down to the floor. Scootaloo didn't know the diagnosis. In her head, there were words forming, but she couldn't find a way to say them.

In a moment, Scootaloo gave a caring sigh under her breath and walked over to Sweetie, leaning up against the wall and facing her. Her presence was tall: Sweetie was crumpled-up against her own wall, and Scootaloo hung over her like a warm shadow, ready at any moment to envelop her in an embrace and dry her tears.

Eventually, she found the words. "... She might... she probably... won't make it through the month." They tasted sour, and she felt her way around them like she was climbing a sheer cliff, unsteady and terrified.

There was a hush as she heard Scootaloo open her mouth, as though trying to respond. It took her longer than Sweetie would have thought, and it wasn't particularly poignant: "I don't know what to say," she whispered.

"It's okay," Sweetie said, her voice shaky, her mouth numb, her eyes still directed to nothing. "It's just something I - something I have to deal with. You know?"

She finally found the drive to look up at Scootaloo. Her eyes reflected the moonlight at a jagged angle and shone like violet lights through mist and black trees, a contrast to her darkened face. In that brief second, she was comfortable again. Just in that brief second.

Her kiss wasn't an excited one. It was slow, gentle, inclusive. And she could taste sweet alcohol on her tongue. Sweetie's arms were wrapped behind the thin of her back, gripping her sides violently - she relaxed when she noticed, but it rather calmed her down.

 _i didn't need to drag you into this_

When they separated, they were close: it felt for a couple seconds like it hadn't ended yet. She didn't want to open her eyes and look back into Scootaloo's. Suddenly, she felt a pressing shame about the whole ordeal.

Scootaloo didn't notice, though, and she heard "Come here," loaded with compassion. And then came that embrace, and she nuzzled into Scootaloo's shoulder without a second thought.

"I didn't mean -" she began, but thought it over. "I - I didn't -" She felt her lip quiver. _Now's not a good time._ "I shouldn't have brought you into this," she managed.

"No, no, it's okay -"

"I know it's okay. I know you think it's okay," she said, stepping back. "I know, because that's what you do, but - but - just please let me make it up to you. Please."

Sweetie looked up at her to find her mouth twisted in thought. "... Nothing big," she replied after a couple seconds.

Why did she feel the need to break her soul. She burst into a weak grin, trying to respond, but couldn't find any words that fit the situation. Instead, she just returned to the hug.

"By the way," Scootaloo began, her voice only just above a whisper, "I want you to know that, uh, I don't really know what you're going through and all, but... I mean, you just do what you do to make yourself feel better and I'm here for moral support, alright? You just... do what you have to."

"... Thanks."

"And I wanna ask you," Scootaloo continued. "Are we... is the wedding still a go?"

At any other moment, in any other way, Sweetie would have thought about it. She would have that about the diagnosis, and about the nebulous future. But at that moment, in her room, in the moonlight and in the consolation of that embrace, she only knew that Scootaloo deserved a promise unbroken. "Of course," she replied immediately. "Of course."

She didn't want to change her clothes, so she just fell onto her bed in her full white suit with Scootaloo curled up behind her, around her. Good, too, because it was getting cold. After a minute or two, she felt Scootaloo's hand crawl down her side to her stomach, and lower. But she didn't feel the usual shiver.

"Not..." she began, leading her hand back up to around her core. "... Not tonight." She sighed through her nose, and stared at the pattern on her carpet from the Venetian blinds. "Instead, could..."

"Hm?"

"I've been asking a lot of you. An unfair lot. But," she spoke slowly and deliberately, "I have to ask one more thing."

"Hm."

She struggled to inhale through her emotion, black and blue and crushing. "I need you to hold me. And whisper into my ear that everything's going to be alright. And that you love me." She felt her eyes getting wet, and wiped them away in frustration. "And don't stop holding me until morning."

Hearing nothing but the quiet ticking of the clock in the room, she turned and looked back. "... Would you please do that for me?"

"Of course," she heard in whisper, and looked away, the wetness returning to her eyes. The body pressing against her back shifted, and she felt herself flush with a rosy calm as delicate lips touched her neck lightly.

And she fell asleep to " _Everything's going to be alright._ "

And she fell asleep to " _I love you._ "


End file.
